Work Text:
Cleo wouldn't say that the day the world ended was the worst day of their life, that honour definitley went to the day where they dropped their ice cream, fell over and scraped their knee, and lost their favourite keyring off their bag and never found it again. Being eight years old was rough. Being thirty was much easier, even with the afforementioned end of the world. To be honest, she'd been quite relieved for the first few days. The horrible fever she'd had wasn't enough for her boss to let her call off sick, but the zombie apocalypse that was slowly it's making its way across the world was.
It had been three years since then, and despite every teacher who had ever had her saying that Cleo was never going to amount to nothing, she was actually doing quite well for herself. She'd drifted for a few months, bouncing from community to community, picking up odd jobs and skills, but that had all come crashing to the ground when she'd been bitten.
It turned out that being a zombie wasn't all that bad. It was helped by the fact that for whatever reason, they had some kind of immunity. Not enough immunity to be carted off to be a lab rat for the cure, but enough that they stayed themself even while their skin turned sickly grey and their cravings turned a little more meat inclined than chocolate.
Not that she didn't still crave chocolate. Being a zombie didn't stop the desire for a sweet treat. It just meant that she had tried to see what some pork chops tasted like when eaten with chocolate cake. Surprisingly good, it turned out, though cake was getting rare enough that she'd never done it since — or, rare for a zombie to be able to get ahnyway. She'd heard stories that in some of the survivor communities, they had reopened bakeries. They could only dream of such a thing, and had to settle for whatever they could scrounge up themself. The meat was for curing her hunger, the cake for giving her a reason to keep going.
Nowadays they did what anyone not welcome in a survivor colony did, worked as a bounty hunter to make ends meet. For a small small price of fresh supplies, Cleo could make your problems disappear. They were one of the best in the business, helped along by the fact they could move freely amongst the zombies without being attacked, so could chase her targets more easily.
She didn't care much about who her charges were, or what they had done to cause such a grudge against them in the middle of an apocalypse. It was kill or be killed around here, and Cleo had already been killed once. They had no interest in repeating the experience.
Being alone was not Cleo's favourite thing, but it has become a fact of life and she'd never expected it to change. Drifters didn't trust each other, especially not when you had grey skin and an unfortunate resemblance to the apocalypse itself.
It was fine. Cleo had never been a people person anyway. This was just the final answer to their years and years of prayers for everyone to just leave them the fuck alone. It was maybe a bit more extreme than she'd been hoping for at the time, but she wasn't going to spend her days filled with regret if she could avoid it.
"Hey! Give us a hand will you!"
Cleo didn't think it was unreasonable that they assumed the call was talking to literally anyone else, even if there wasn't anyone else around. People tended to avoid catching her attention.
"Hey! You! With the ginger hair! Give us a hand!"
It was only after the second call that Cleo realised it was actually for them, and they turned to see what was going on. There was a man leaning out of the window of a car, waving aggressively. His hair was ridiculously bright, and Cleo found themself wondering where the hell he got hair dye from around here. That was the only reason she walked over in the first place, leaving their sword sheafed by their side but easily accessible if this turned out to be a trap.
She had no idea who would dare trap a sentient zombie, but you can never be sure during the apocalypse.
"We could do with a hand, mate." It turned out that blue wasn't alone, his friend in the driver's seat had an unfamiliar accent and long brown hair tied up into a bun, and a slightly unsettling grin. "You see, you look the fierce type, and we've found ourselves without an escort." She gestured to the backseat, as though emphasising that there was no one else in there. "We've got a fairly long trip for supplies, and we don't want to be jumped when we enter the wrong territories without some kind of card up our sleeve."
It was all very smart, except from a couple of details. Number one being that Cleo was a bounty hunter, even if one without a current contract, not an escort. And second of all-
"What makes you think that I'm not one of the people that you need to be protected from?" Cleo asked, leaning against the car door and cracking her knuckles. Unfortunately, neither of the people in the car looked properly threatened, just exchanging grins.
"We count ourselves good judges of character, and we pay well." Blue hair was definitely lying, but Cleo couldn't quite tell what about.
Call Cleo insane, but the apocalypse got kind of boring after a while, and this job promised to be interesting. It was something a bit different than bounting hunting, and Cleo had been considering a break. Besides, they could always kill these two if they tried to betray them. She was fairly confident in her ability to beat two people who were stupid enough to ask for help from someone like Cleo.
"What're you offering?"
"One week journey, all supplies provided. The option to be dropped off whatever you want once the job is over, within the same time frame as the job lasted for-"
"Meaning we are offering to bring you back here, or take you two weeks drive away, or anywhere in between."
"Exactly. And, a share of the supplies we pick up at the other end."
"Supplies is not very descriptive. How do I even know if it's something I would want?"
"I'm sure some of it isn't," Bun agreed. "Medicine, bandages, stuff like that. But we are also picking up weapons, preserved meat, raw ingredients. Should be some baked goods too. We're picking up rare supplies, and we're willing to share in return for some protection."
They hoped it wasn't too obvious the way they perked up at the mention of ingredients and raw goods. They couldn't show their hand too easily, but even if they hadn't already decided to take a risk, the promise of rare supplies was reeling them in.
"Alright. I'll do it." She said, putting as much disinterest into her voice as she could manage.
"Great! Hop in!"
The blue haired guy was called Scott. He was Scottish, he spent half his time sketching in his little notebook or humming under his breath, and he swore that he recognised Cleo no matter how many times she pointed out that she looked very different nowadays.
Pearl, the driver with the bun, did most of the driving. She refused to let Scott have any control over her car - there was clearly an incident there, but Cleo didn't care enough to ask - and claimed that Cleo couldn't protect them and drive at the same time. Cleo hadn't actually had had to do any protecting yet. The normal zombies had no interest in a car, not a moving one anyway, and they'd only been skirting the edges of unruly territories where most gangs decided it was more trouble than it was worth to try and stop them.
Pearl had a picture of some kind of dog taped onto her sunshade, and a small teddy bear sat on the dash that she patted when the terrain got rougher. She had a strange sleeping schedule, sometimes driving all through the night before stopping for a nap and other times going to sleep as soon as the sun set. Cleo didn't need much sleep, but would sometimes nap while Pearl was driving to ensure that they were fully aware while her clients were sleeping.
They would never admit it out loud, but they were enjoying themself. It had been ages since they'd moved as fast as a car allowed, and while it was annoying to be in such close proximity with people again - strangers at that, though they were getting more familiar and more deserving of the title "strange" as the days passed - it was also kind of nice. The apocalypse was much quieter than Cleo had ever imagined.
"Doo do do doo DOO!" Scott and Pearl sang in unison, if such noises could even be described as singing. They seemed to enjoy making noise together just for the joy of it. Cleo covered their smile with a hand, tapping in beat against their lips.
"Come on Cleo!" Scott needled, "join in!"
"Not a chance." Cleo shook their head, pointedly looking away so they didn't see the pathetic pleading face Scott had twisted in his seat to send them. They were a bounty hunter. Pathetic begging had never worked on them. "Don't even try. It's not going to happen."
"But Cleeeoooo," Pearl cried. "You're one of us now! You have to join in."
Cleo just shook her head, ignoring the twang of longing. She'd always been better on her own. This was nice, but it would be over before she knew it, and that was for the best.
Pearl and Scott, for all they were annoying little pricks, were surprisingly good at telling when they should stop pushing. They could tell when Cleo was playing back, and when it was best to leave her to her own devices and have their own quiet conversation. They even seemed to be able to tell when they should really just shut up before Cleo decided the job wasn't worth it and started committing murder.
Maybe it should have been uncomfortable, being read so easily. It wasn't, in some weird way it was kind of touching. Cleo didn't think they'd ever been understood as easily as Scott and Pearl seemed to understand them, and that included back when they were alive, and just a normal person.
The week went quickly, and Cleo did their best to ignore the disappointment that flared up when Pearl announced they were almost there and asked if Cleo had decided where they wanted dropping off yet.
She hadn't.
They didn't think they could bring themself to return to the same life, the same stomping ground, that they'd been haunting ever since they'd been bitten. They hadn't truly realised how little they were living, even if they were technically not even alive, until now. Until seeing Pearl and Scott laugh and squabble together, so full of light even as the world around them tried to drag them down. Maybe they'd just tell Pearl to point the car in whatever direction she wanted and drive until Cleo's time ran out. Hope a new life fell into their lap.
They were approaching a survivor's camp, but Pearl pulled in before reaching the gates, where a pile of boxes was waiting on the side of the road. The supplies they were picking up, surely. Cleo hopped out the car first to make sure the supplies hadn't summoned any looters, wondering who had delivered these supplies and just left them outside unguarded?
Movement from the other side of the boxes, a form popping out of the shade. Cleo would have drawn her sword if she couldn't see Scott and Pearl waving at the guy. He waved back happily, and now the adrenaline was calming she finally got a good look at him. Blond hair, a smug grin, unfortunately familiar to Cleo. There was no way.
"Hi! I'm supplies!" Martyn greeted cheerfully, Cleo's ex from university, because apparently the world was even smaller during the apocalypse than at any other time. He was holding onto a large white dog — the one from the sunshade picture — though let go of it as soon as Pearl climbed out of the car and it happily ran over to her, licking her face and wagging its tail fast enough it turned into a blur.
"Tilly! I promised I'd be back, didn't I, you big oaf!"
"You're joking." Cleo looked between Martyn, stood in the middle of the pile of boxes, and Pearl.
"Unfortunately not! This is Martyn-"
"We've had the displeasure of meeting." Cleo glared at the man, who didn't have the sense to pretend to be afraid.
"-we're normally stuck with him, but he decided to stay at a camp near here for a few months." Pearl continued, unbothered as she gave Tilly one last head pat and started loading the supplies into the car. "We said we'd pick him up next time we were in the area."
"Yeah, which by the way, was ages ago! I thought you were never going to come back." Martyn clutched at his chest, earning himself a smack on the back of his head from Scott.
"You could have messaged us. Asked us to pick you up sooner." Scott pointed out. They didn't use the phone much, only when picking up supply orders or when they had excess to sell. Fuel was precious after all, and wasting it on a phone battery was rarely worth it anymore, even with the endless driving. They might not have picked it up straight away, but if Martyn had messaged they would have seen it eventually.
"And give you something to hold against me? Not a chance! You said you'd pick me up when you were next in the area, that's what I was waiting for. I was just also wondering if you were going to avoid this area for the rest of your lives."
"Maybe we should have," Pearl and Scott said at the same time.
"You knew we were coming back anyway, you had Tilly with you." Pearl pressed a kiss to her dog's head. "You know we would have never left her longer than we had to, even if you were there too."
"We had a dangerous shipment," Scott explained when he saw Cleo's clear confusion. "The kind of thing you don't want to be moving around with someone who can't understand not to touch something dangerous. That's why we left both Martyn and Tilly here."
Cleo choked on her breath, almost disappointed that Martyn was too busy loading the car to hear that particular blow. He'd always been quick with his responses.
"I am sorry that we didn't tell you that we were picking up a friend," Scott offered after a moment. "And that you… have history?"
"Yeah, something like that. We knew each other… before. Didn't part on great terms. It was all so long ago, and feels so insignificant." She shrugged. "But also his smug little face hasn't changed a bit."
"He does have a smug little face!" Scott agreed delightedly. "Do you think you can survive?"
Cleo sighed, but nodded her head. It wasn't like it was going to be for very long anyway. She could put up with Martyn's presence for a week or two.
The supplies they had picked up were mostly on their way to a survivor camp to the east. Cleo still didn't know where she wanted to go, so she told them to make their shipment and drop her off when they reached her time. She didn't separate out her stuff from the rest of the shipment, but made sure everyone knew that she got first choice of sweets or else she'd start biting. It felt a little bit like showing her hand, but this close to the end did it really matter if they knew about her sweet tooth? Besides, she had picked up on plenty of weaknesses from Pearl and Scott during the drive, and she doubted Martyn's had changed that much in the last decade.
Pearl still did all the driving, not trusting Martyn to drive anymore than she trusted Scott, which Cleo wasn't really surprised about. He joined them in the back most of the time, though it was a bit more cramped with Tilly sat with them too, occasionally shoving her face into the front for some pets. Sometimes Scott and Martyn swapped, especially when Scott wanted a nap and Pearl wanted some company. Cleo preferred sharing with Scott. He didn't kick. On long nights Cleo would move to the front, helping Pearl navigate. It felt real. It felt permanent. Cleo tried not to think about it.
Martyn didn't ask about the time since they'd last seen each other, just happily slotted back into the friendly prodding they'd always done. It felt like no time had passed. Like the world hadn't ended. Like they were still 21 and realising that being great friends who could bounce off each other endlessly didn't actually make you a good fit for a relationship. Cleo could almost pretend that this was how it had actually gone, and not the slow decent into not talking, and then not even acknowledging each other, that happened after their breakup.
Progress was slower, they had to stop every couple of hours so that Tilly could stretch her legs. Technically they had promised Cleo a week of travel in any direction, but she told them that she wasn't accepting less distance just because they had picked up their dog.
A week passed. Two. No one pointed out that they'd definitely made up the distance by now. They picked up a new contract, and Scott said that they needed an escort anyway. None of them mentioned the fact that Cleo had barely done any protecting the entire time they'd been with them. Cleo wasn't in a hurry to go back to bounty hunting, so she just nodded along and spun her knives. They had a bit of trouble while refueling, but all four of them drawing weapons was enough to scare the other group off.
They clearly didn't need Cleo, but they seemed quite happy to keep her around. More contracts kept coming in, Cleo finally got a chance to try a cronut. It was tasty, as was everything sweet in the apocalypse, but somewhat underwhelming after the amount of hype that had been around them. Scott promised that he was an incredible baker. He said that Cleo would see, when they had access to an oven and the ingredients, he would make them all the best cakes.
They'd been doing that a lot. Talking about settling down. Finding a survivors camp to make a home base. Continue their supply runs, but have a home to return to at the end of the day.
"Has to be somewhere that'll take Cleo," they always said, offhand, like it was obvious. "Or else there's no point."
It made Cleo's chest feel warm, as they watched the outside fly past, surrounded by people who had chosen to latch onto them. She didn't know how they'd reached this point, why Pearl and Scott had called out to them, why they'd kept them around all this time.
She didn't leave though. No matter how much she threatened to when they were annoying her, or when they tried to force her to join their out of tune singing. This wasn't the life they had ever imagined for themself, but they were going to see where it went. Whatever destination or supply run or survivors camp came next.