A/N: Welp, this is sort of on-a-whim type of post due mostly to the sheer lack of fics for Starfighter, which is just SOSAD. So, uh, helping? Will post more soon!

-E

Perdition: Part I

Ethan grunted as the gun went off, kick hitting him hard in the shoulder. Something cold and sticky splattered across his face as another body dropped to the ground. He didn't pause, just refocused and pulled the trigger again, shot going wide, dead, mutilated bodies still lurching toward him as he cursed and took aim once more. This one hit its mark, another head blasted apart, another corpse hitting the ground. Re-aim, pull, kick, re-aim, pull, kick, over and over until he re-aimed—sights focused on a woman with lank brown hair and virtually no clothes—pulled the trigger, and felt the gun jam.

"Fuck," Ethan said, pulling once more, but that was it. He was officially out of ammo. "Fuck," he muttered again, dropping the gun and pulling out a knife instead, glancing over his shoulder as he took a few steps back.

His shoulders hit a shelf and a few packaged foods fell to the ground, crunching under his feet as he tried to edge around the shelf and keep the zombies at bay. He had barely a moment to feel hot breath on his neck before one of them grabbed him from behind and pulled him down. Ethan struggled, swinging the knife back over his shoulder and cutting rotting skin, but it didn't seem to have any effect. Finally, he managed to pry the hands off him, snap of bone and tear of flesh and Ethan felt his stomach roll and he crawled away, only managed to go a few feet before he was dragged back again, kicking, unable to stop fighting even when he knew he was outnumbered.

"Stop, stop, stop," he said, kneejerk reaction, no effect whatsoever on the four living corpses crawling over him, pulling at his arms, faces leaning in to bite. He still had hold of the knife, managing to slash a few across the face and neck, wounds opening but no splash of blood, too dead even for that, too congealed and blackened.

When one of them held down his arms, Ethan knew that was it. He kicked out, managed to catch one of them in the head and reel it back, but it recovered fast. They all did.

More putrid breath hot on his forehead and Ethan closed his eyes, knife falling out of his lax fingers. Sharp teeth grazed his cheek.

A gunshot, and suddenly the teeth were gone. He could smell something fresher than dead, rotting flesh again. More shots and the restricting grip on his arms was lifted. Ethan breathed out, waiting, but when nothing else happened, he opened his eyes.

He found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, a dark-haired man standing over him, arms steady.

"Wait!" Ethan said, holding up his hands. "Wait, wait, I'm not—I'm not infected. Don't shoot."

The other snorted, one side of his mouth curling up, head tilting to the side. "Uh-huh. Sorry, sweetheart, can't take that chance."

"No, no!" Ethan's eyes widened as he watched the hand near the trigger tighten. "Please, I'm not lying. You can—you can search me."

Black eyebrows rose. The gun lowered by just a fraction. "I can what?"

"Search me," Ethan repeated, sitting up, heart beating fast. "I swear, I'm clean."

Dark eyes surveyed him for a long moment before the other shrugged. "All right. Stand and strip."

Ethan blinked, face flushing. "I—what?"

"You want to live, you better show me how clean you are."

Ethan swallowed, mouth gone dry. "I just thought—"

"Tick-tock, baby, I got places to be. You want to die or don't you?"

When Ethan still didn't move, the man raised the gun again, sighing. "Shame. I could've done with a show. Close your eyes, sweetheart, and I'll make it fast."

"No wait!" Ethan said, raising his hands again. "I'll do it—please, don't shoot." He watched warily as the gun remained trained on him, getting slowly to his feet. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, distracted by the bodies scattered around him, the dried blood and bits of brain on his hands.

He slipped his shirt off, glancing up in time to watch the other lick his lips, dark eyes roving over Ethan's chest, the gaze as heavy as a touch. Ethan's hands shook as he unbuttoned his pants—when was the last time he had eaten? He couldn't remember. That was the reason he had gone into the convenience store in the first place, and now he was severely regretting that decision.

He pushed his jeans down, belatedly toeing out of his shoes and stepping out of the pile of clothes. And then there was only one thing left.

The man raised his gaze to Ethan's face, lips curling into a smirk, gun still at the ready, butt resting against his shoulder. "Well? You too shy, baby? How do I know you weren't bitten down there?"

Ethan clenched his teeth, breathed out hard through his nose. "How would I get bitten—"

"Maybe you got one of those" —he jerked the barrel of the gun toward the bodies on the ground— "to give you a happy ending before they dug in."

"They're not smart enough," Ethan muttered. He leaned down to pick up his shirt, hadn't completed the action before booted feet stepped in front of him, the mouth of the gun pressed to his chest.

"I'll do it," the other said; quiet, voice smooth and dark and so very, very serious. "Don't think I won't."

Ethan didn't doubt that for a second. He straightened up again, face hot, pushing his shorts down to his feet as well. All at once, the man's eyes lowered, breathing out. He took his time looking, no shame in it, gun still at the ready.

"See?" Ethan snapped, starting to reach down again, but the man stopped him.

"Turn around."

"What? No! You just saw—"

The other pressed the gun harder against Ethan's chest. "I said, turn the fuck around."

Ethan stepped back, foot slipping on a chunk of blonde hair from one of the fallen figures. Ethan glared at the man, feeling completely exposed, wary of turning his back on someone holding a gun to him, but he didn't see what choice he had. He turned, slowly, hairs on the back of his neck standing up, ears straining for any sound of movement behind him.

"You've got a sweet ass, baby, anyone ever tell you that before?"

Ethan flushed hot, crossing his arms over his chest. He cleared his throat, tried to find something to say but couldn't. Didn't matter when the other said, "What's your name?"

Ethan glanced over his shoulder, found that the gun was pointing at the ground, no longer a threat. He turned back to face the man, crouching down to pull his clothes back on, hot gaze following him the whole time.

"Ethan," he said. "What's yours?"

The other gave him a cold look; calculating. "You can call me Cain."

Ethan frowned, buttoned his jeans and dropped his gaze. Cain. Yeah, right. Ethan wasn't dumb, knew how guarded people were nowadays, now that everything was ending. Couldn't even give a real name; too reminiscent, too many memories attached. Cutting ties was a lot easier when you didn't have any.

The tinkling bell of the door broke the silence just after Ethan got his shirt back on. They both crouched down, peering through the slats of the shelves as two more people stumbled in. Ethan licked his lips, reaching for his gun before he realized that it wouldn't do him any good anyway. He glanced to his right, toward Cain, then looked around in confusion at the empty space beside him. The back door to the supply room was just swinging shut by the time Ethan glanced at it.

"Damn it." He whirled around, grabbed his gun off the floor, pushing aside the limp body lying partially atop it, and hurried after Cain.

He found him perched on top of a stack of boxes, smashing the butt of his gun against the small, dirty window. Cain glanced out and dropped his gun out the window, hoisting himself through a moment later. He had just disappeared from view when the supply room door opened again.

Ethan rushed after him, scurrying up the stack of boxes, dropping his gun out the window as well, then carefully pulled himself through it. He glanced down when he was just hanging there, judging the distance to the ground. It was a few feet, but it wasn't as though he could back out. He shifted his grip on the window a bit, preparing himself. His palm caught on a jagged piece of glass and Ethan gasped, grip loosening. He hit the ground hard, glass cracking under his feet as his knees buckled, little zinging shockwaves zipping up from his heels.

He gritted his teeth, stumbling against a nearby wall. When he glanced up, he could just see Cain's dark head far in the distance, heading toward the city. Ethan grabbed his gun, didn't let his aching joints slow him down, and followed.

He caught up with Cain just as he was passing through a chain-link fence, cracking the rusted lock with the rifle and pulling the chains apart, slipping through the gates. Ethan pushed through just behind him, startled back when suddenly Cain turned on him, gun raised.

"The fuck," he said, lowering the gun when he caught sight of Ethan's face. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I—" Ethan bit his lip. "I'm coming with you."

Cain stared at him for a long moment. "No, you're not."

Ethan gaped. "Why not? You just—you saved my life."

Cain clenched his jaw and turned away. "Yeah, well you're fucking welcome. Now get lost."

He started to turn away but Ethan grabbed his arm. "Why? I could help, we could team up, we could—" He broke off and stumbled away as Cain forcibly jerked his arm free. He spat on the ground at Ethan's feet.

"Fuck off."

Ethan watched Cain walk away, black hair tangled and lifting slightly in the breeze. The first human Ethan had seen in weeks, the first one he had talked to in—God, how long had it been…months?—and he was just watching him walk away. Ethan wasn't stupid, he understood. He knew how hard it was to get close to someone and then watch as they were turned, the knowledge that it was only a matter of time before you had to kill them to make sure you could stay alive. But still…still…how was he supposed to let another piece of humanity walk away, especially when there was so little of it left?

Ethan glanced around at all the empty buildings, the wilted shutters. So many living corpses, so many eyes that could be on him right now, waiting for a chance to strike….

Ethan took a breath, Cain still within hailing distance but getting steadily farther out of reach. Maybe Ethan would regret it, when one of them was just a bit too slow, a bit too stupid or careless and they had to be left behind…maybe. But right then Ethan was so desperately lonely that he wasn't even sure why he was still fighting anymore.

So he made Cain stop in the only way he knew how because that's how he had got the others to stay with him too, even though none of them had worked out. "I have a car."

And just like the others, Cain paused at the chance of a way out, a chance for something better. He shouldered the gun and then glanced back, that calculating look back, hard and searching. "Come here, then," he said, and kept walking.