Chapter One

Murphy MacManus listened to the pitter patter of the rain hitting the top of his tent, keeping his eyes closed. Beside him, his twin was stirring in his sleep, hugging the pillow as if it would leave him in his sleep. The tent was small, no bigger than a small bathroom. But it worked and it gave them shelter from the cold, the rain, and...

Hearing a groan, the darker haired twin opened his eyes quickly. Connor had been sick lately, so he watched his twin for a moment before reassuring himself that he was fine, he was still asleep.

And with that news, he knew to grab his knife from under his cot, which sat on the ground. He unzipped the opening slightly to find pale fingers with the flesh beginning to tear around the knuckles. The groaning got louder as the grip on the tightened.

"Ah, you fucker." Murphy muttered quietly, slicing the fingers off. The groaning got louder and the hand faltered for a moment, giving the younger twin time to unzip the rest of the opening. As he did, a man-or at least, a shell of what this man once was-growled at him. The lips were gone, revealing the blackening and rotting teeth. The tip of the nose was hanging off, and the eyes were deep into their sockets, clouded over and menacing. The hair was stringy, hanging off the top of the head like spaghetti. If it had been at the beginning of the outbreak, Murphy would have felt a twinge of fear. But this had been going on for a while, and all of the fear that he felt was gone. He raised his knife as the walker-that was, at least, what they called those creatures-lunged at him, growling loudly. Murphy slid the knife into the creature's skull with a sickening schlick ringing in his ears. For a moment he looked this thing right in the eyes as the hand that only had one or two fingers left reached for him, and then he yanked the knife out, the dark blood splashing onto his face and white shirt (which was not as white as it used to be, thanks to old sweat stains that he tried to get out but couldn't).
The walker flopped to the ground, its arm still outstretched. Murphy glared at it and spit on it, before taking his shirt off and wiping his face with a clean edge. He pushed it away from the opening and zipped it back up.

He sighed quietly, getting his old black t-shirt out, which was torn on the collar and under the arms, putting it on before laying back down. He looked at Connor, who had surprisingly slept through the whole thing. Reaching his hand out, he lightly touched his twin's forehead and winced at the warmth it gave off.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered. Connor's fever was getting worse by the minute it seemed, and they were far from any town to do a quick supply run to get any medicine. Murphy couldn't go alone, for fear of Connor being too weak to kill any walkers that came back this way. And there was no way in hell his brother was going into town. He could barely walk five feet before stumbling. They had their longest stay yet in these woods, simply because Connor was so sick. Murphy wasn't sure if it was a cold or the flu, but it definitely had wiped his brother out.

Not only did they not have any medicine, they were beginning to run low on food. The only things left were some crackers, canned beans that they could cook over a fire, and some bread. That was about it. They were in desperate need of a supply run.

As Murphy laid back, Connor began to stir, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Murph..." he whispered.

"I'm right here, brother. I haven't gone anywhere." Murphy answered him quietly.

Connor's blue eyes flickered open weakly, and Murphy felt a twinge in his heart. He hated seeing his brother so sick, and it was evident that it was getting worse, he could see it in his eyes. "I knew ya wouldn't... Just had ta make sure..." he closed his eyes again and seemed to be falling back asleep until a coughing fit shook his body. Murphy pat his back as Connor spit onto the ground, groaning and rubbing his throat.

"You okay there?" Murphy asked, his eyes full to the brim with concern.

"What the fuck do ya think?" Connor answered, his voice raspy. "I'm coughin' my lungs up. My throat feels like sandpaper." he looked at his brother. "To answer your question, I feel fantastic." he spoke sarcastically. Murphy sighed a little.

"We really need ta get you some medicine... It's just getting worse."

"I agree, but how?" Connor looked at his brother with red rimmed eyes. "Neither of us can go inta town, too risky. There's two of us, and millions of them. Can't get rid of them all."

"And I'm not leaving ya here alone to die. The walkers are multiplyin'. I just killed one not two minutes ago."

Connor narrowed his eyes a bit. "I'm not an invalid."

"But you're sick and gettin' sicker by the minute. It's worryin' me."

Connor looked down, swallowing hard.

"I don't understand why I always have to get the food."

"Because you always make me hold the gun. It's fair."

Eunice Bloom couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the older man before leaving his side, grabbing loaves of bread.

The supermarket was trashed, signed and debris covering the floor. Paul Smecker took one step before noticing that a coupon page had stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Rolling his eyes, he got it off, making sure nothing else was on the shoe before taking a few more steps towards Eunice, looking around and making sure that none of those freaks were around.
The ginger haired woman was shoving two loafs of bread into a bag they had found on the road, trying to make them fit and make room for more at the same time.

"Are you just going to get bread or are you going to get some canned goods?" Smecker teased her.

"I'll get what I want to get. After all, I'm the only that does it." Eunice teased back.

"Who's the one that saves you all the time, Miss Smartass? Remember, I'm the one holding the gun." He added, a playful smirk on his face. Eunice rolled her eyes, trying to hide a smile.

"Don't forget. I've got the food. I could easily leave with all of it."

"I can just make another supply run. You wouldn't exactly make me destitute."

Eunice smiled, making her way over to the canned goods. She put cans of beans into the bag, putting them on top of the bread.

"You're squishing it." Smecker said to her. Eunice looked up at him.

"We're gonna eat it anyway." she raised her eyebrows a moment before shoving more cans into the bag. Groans were then heard throughout the supermarket. Both former Special Agents looked around, and Smecker got his gun ready.

"I think it's time to shoot our way out of here, what do you think, Ginger?"

"I think so." Eunice took a knife out of the holster she had on her waist, gripping it tightly in her hand.

In the darkness of "The Hoag" Maximum Security Prision, Romeo made his way out of a cell and looked around. He held a knife tightly in his hand, the gun he had been using earlier discarded on the floor, out of bullets. He had to be perfectly honest-he had no idea what in the fuck happened. The last thing he remembered before slipping into a coma was the soung of sirens, with the thought "Oh, shit" crossing his mind before he passed out. The next thing he knew, there was this dead looking motherfucker leaning over him. Tearing out his IV, Romeo stabbed it in the face at least five times before it slumped over onto the ground. He took out the tubes and everything connected to him, trying to get out of the bed, and failing miserably at it. He wasn't sure how long he was out, but it was long enough to where he had missed something major and to where his legs refused to work. At least for the time being.

That had been three hours ago. Now walking around and killing any of those things that he saw, Romeo had really one thing on his mind.

The cafeteria.

Granted, prison food wasn't always the best, but it was food and Goddammit, he was starving.

He made his way down the hall before hearing voices. His eyes widened and he hurried as quick as he could-his legs were still giving a little resistance-and made his way to the room. He looked in and there were two men sitting at a table, eating out of cans. The hispanic man's eyes widened, the smell of food reaching his nose. He made his way into the room, and a blond haired man looked up, and his eyes widened. He stood and Romeo held up his knife, glaring at him. The man sitting in front of the blond, one with brown hair, turned and stood quickly, pinning Romeo against the wall.

"Drop your weapon..." He snarled.

"Make me, bitch." Romeo snapped back. The man slammed him up against the wall, making Romeo's grip slip for a second before he regained it. His eyes narrowed.

"Hey... John... Maybe you should leave him alone." The blond man spoke.

"Shut up, asshole!" John glared at the blond before looking at Romeo again. "Who the fuck are you, anyway?"

"I don't see why that's any of your business." Romeo snarled at him. John scoffed.

"You think you're some tough motherfucker, don't you? Well let me tell you something, spic." At this Romeo's eyes widened in anger. "This is my prison. You fuck with the bull, you're gonna get the horns. Got it?" He stepped back from him before spitting at his feet and returning to the table. "Gerald. Sit your ass down." he snapped at the blond.

"I'm sorry for that..." Gerald spoke quietly.

"What the fuck did I say?" John yanked the other man down.

Romeo sighed.

It took everything in him to not kill this man.

Author's Note: I'm still new to writing Boondock Saints fanfiction. I also do not approve of any ethnic/racial slurs whatsoever. John is just a character that I'm making out to be an asshole. I do NOT condone racism of any kind-in fact, the very thought of it makes me sick.