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rainydaywhump · 5 months

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Zombies Are An Afterthought - 7.5

(For Whumpcember: Day 11 - Infection!)

This drabble actually doesn't involve Annette or Kel, but it does feature Kel's friend Marie, who comes across a man who may or may not have just been infected by zombies. It's hard to tell, seeing as he's unconscious and the chemist doesn't want to examine a possible-zombie-time-bomb too closely. She handles him accordingly.

CWs: lighthearted whump and hurt/rescue. Small warnings for blood, fainting, and restraints.

Basil’s knees were dotted with bits of gravel and dirt from tripping on the town’s icy main street. They stung and the cold stung more, but it was far better than the alternative.

If he stopped now, he would never get back up.

The man was unfamiliar with this town. In fact, he wasn’t even supposed to be here. He was supposed to be safely in his car, shielded from the undead. And god, wasn’t that a ridiculous concept? Fucking zombies, man. Those things were supposed to stay strictly behind the silver screen. They were supposed to be slow and cartoonishly green, not uncannily human, decaying faster than a fifth grader’s composting experiment for science class, or fast enough that he had to run at full speed to get away.

…and that was the last thing Basil thought before something heavy crashed right in front of him and sent him tumbling into a pile of broken glass.

…

He woke up with the vivid mental image of being eaten alive.

Basil jolted upright – only for something to hold him down. He panicked and thrashed against his bonds, but a soft surface beneath him made him pause to see what it was.

He was on a bed.

In an unfamiliar house.

…restrained hand and foot with rope and duct tape.

His relief at not being eaten alive by zombies was immediately replaced by intense fear. Where was he? Who had done this to him?

And what the hell were they going to do to him?

Basil shuddered. Though the bones of society were still working, emergency services were still narrowly confined to fatal wounds, chronic conditions, and undead containment. When his friends back home realized that something was wrong, the resulting missing persons case on him would be guaranteed to land in the massive backload of cases that law enforcement would not be dealing with any time soon. By the time they got to it, he could very well be dead.

Basil tried not to think about the fact that the same could be said for by the time his friends reported him missing.

He took stock of his surroundings first, then himself. The bed was comfortable, he had to admit. The room he’d found himself trapped in was small and strangely cozy for a kidnapper. There were a few books here and there; a couple of plants; empty mugs; and some excellent floral paintings on the walls. There was also a bookshelf, but Basil couldn’t make out what was on it.

He blinked. His glasses were gone. The lack of sight sent another stab of fear through him.

Light streamed through the window above the plants, but Basil’s position on the bed made it so he couldn’t see outside. Still, he somehow knew that he was at least two stories up.

Okay. Think this through. Last thing he remembered, he’d been running from the undead through an empty street, hoping against all hope to run into a patrolling soldier or at least a conveniently open door. Or, he’d thought, couldn’t someone see his plight and let him in? As he ran past more and more townhouses, however, he’d lost hope.

Okay, what then? His memories were pretty hazy, but…oh. Oh, fuck. Something – someone had hit him with a heavy object, a rock maybe, and he’d fallen right into a mess of broken glass. And in turn…

Basil groaned.

He had always had this problem, but now it had really caught up to him: he fainted at the sight of blood. Specifically, his own blood. Other blood, that was fine. His brain was okay with that. But the moment his hand was pierced by the glass, his brain went spastic.

And now he was here.

Out of curiosity (and somewhat hoping to faint again, in the vague hope that he’d wake up and everything would be normal again), Basil glanced over at the offending hand. He was surprised to see that it had been neatly bandaged. He looked down; anything more than a meter away from him got progressively blurrier, but he could still see that his scraped-up knees had been cleaned and covered by bandaids with…

…little cartoon test tubes?

Which was fucking terrifying, given the context.

A knock on the door made him gasp and try instinctively (and without success) to scramble backwards in the bed. He recovered and shouted, voice cracking, “What the fuck do you want with me?”

There was a pause, and then a woman’s voice replied, “Ah. So you haven’t turned.”

“…turned? Whoa, wait, who’re –”

The door swung open, and Basil could only think about how strange it was for an evil kidnapper to knock before entering for a second before he turned his full attention to the evil kidnapper in question. Unfortunately, most of the evil kidnapper looked like she was behind foggy glass. “Where are my glasses?”

In response, she walked over to the bookshelf, picked something up, and slipped them over his eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, more out of obligation than out of regret. “I didn’t want to risk you breaking them while you were out.”

She certainly didn’t look like an evil kidnapper, but that disturbed Basil even more. This small, bespectacled, skirt-and-sweater-wearing woman had effectively knocked him out, dragged him into her house, and tied him up on her bed.

Basil wanted to appear defiant, but he was a biologist, not an actor. His voice trembled when he asked, “Wh…what are you going to do with me?”

She blinked at him as if he was the weird one for asking – and then her gaze softened. “I’m not going to do anything. I had to tie you up in case you were infected; that’s all.” When he still stared at her blankly, she elaborated, “You were being chased by zombies, so I thought there might be a chance that you had been bitten. I managed to get you here before the zombies could get to you and – you know – kill you – but I couldn’t risk you turning suddenly.”

Something clicked in Basil’s head. “Wait – so you saved me, but you’re worried I got infected with the virus, so you were keeping me restrained until you’re sure…?”

“The incubation period ranges anywhere from four to eighteen hours, depending on the location of the bite and the size of the victim,” she said matter-of-factly. “I felt I had invaded your privacy enough by dragging you in here and tying you up, so I didn’t check for a bite underneath your clothes. Well, I mainly didn’t want to risk getting attacked by a recently-turned zombie in close quarters,” she amended, “but still. So. Were you bitten?”

“No! No, of course not,” Basil said. “I almost did, though. You…you saved me.” He frowned. “You also…threw a boulder at me?”

“A paperweight. I’m sorry, but I thought you were another zombie at first.”

“I was running.”

“That’s generous.”

“Very funny. Can you untie me now?”

She hesitated. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“Strip me and see for yourself.”

“I suppose that’s the best way to go about it,” she said. Basil liked her oddly formal way of speaking, even if it was a tad strange. “By the way, my name is Marie.”

“I’m Basil. Thanks for saving my life, Marie.”

Her cheeks turned a brilliant red that Basil mercifully chose to pretend he didn’t notice; he had a feeling it was more because of the thanks than her attention to his now-bare legs, which she examined with clinical interest and nothing more. Perhaps she was a doctor? He opened his mouth to ask about the science-themed bandaids and neatly-executed wound care, but before he could talk, she muttered, “I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d accidentally killed a living person. Um – if you don’t mind me asking, before I untie you, why did you pass out? Was it from pain?”

He looked at her in disbelief. “You’ve checked every inch of me and you haven’t found any bite marks. Do you think the zombies bit my asshole, or something?”

Marie rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t die in my bed, Basil. Tell me why you passed out.”

Basil looked down. He could feel his own cheeks burning now. “Fine,” he muttered. “I…I faint whenever I see my own blood.”

“Ah, vasovagal syncope? I see. That’s a relief.”

“Are you a doctor or something?” He blurted out.

Marie beamed. “Not a medical one, but thank you! I’m a chemistry professor. Most of my research is about chemical weapons, though. If you get violent,” she warned, suddenly grave, “I have the cleaning supplies to deal with you.”***

Her tone that threatened much worse than Basil could think of at the moment. “Understood. No getting violent. Are you sure I’m not infected now?”

Marie responded by humming in agreement and getting to work on his restraints. “Correct. No bite marks. But you have a substantial number of minor wounds that I didn’t notice, and they seem to be infected.” Basil blanched, and she held up a hand. “Not zombie-infected; I mean normal infection. I can treat them, but it will be painful.”

Basil slumped back against the pillow in relief. “That, I can handle.”

...

***it is somewhat well-known that mixing two or more common household cleaning supplies, when done correctly, can result in a lethal gas.

The resulting gas is extremely potent, spreads easily, and cannot be contained or directed at a target as this fic implies. I used creative license for Marie's threats. Don't use a whump character as solid advice, please!

@whumpcember @i-eat-worlds @pigeonwhumps

#whumpcember #whump prompt #whumpcember2023 #whumpcember2023day11 #zombies are an afterthought #marie oc #basil oc #yeah i ship them #they cute

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