Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His uncle was the first one to get sick. It was scary, but his mom had promised him everything would be alright, what choice did he have but believe her?

Little did the boy know that mothers could be liars, too. He was still too young to understand she was lying to herself just as much. Or maybe too young to want to notice, to not want to ignore the bitter truth seeping through the cracks of her sweet lies. He clung to the sweetness, as children do. Even when his own father tore through his mother’s flesh with his teeth. Even when his mother came back to her senses with the taste of his blood, her son’s blood, on her tongue — and through his tears he saw licking her lips just like he did when she’d give him ice cream. 

He refused to swallow the bitterness, spitting it out like nasty medicine, even when his mother’s last words to him were to run, kill her and run.  In his eyes, she looked just as beautiful, her arms just as safe as they had always been, even as he bashed his favorite toy truck against her head until she stopped screaming.  

Then he ran. For how long, he couldn’t tell. It was hard to track time now. There were moments he couldn’t remember anything about except for the hunger, so much hunger. And anger, too, though he didn’t know who he was angry at. Had to be someone, right? Maybe his mom.

Mom. What was it that she screamed at him, right after… Run…. Run where….? The neighbours. He liked them. Their son was older than him, but always fun to talk to. He wondered what it would be like to bite the son’s mouth off, he was so hungry. 

Something hurt and it was hard to run now; so he walked, but never stopped. He kept on staggering and crying, because his mind wouldn’t stop telling him to bite, to sink his teeth in skin. If only mothers weren’t liars. 

Penelope knew he was lying. From the moment his car barged through their gates and he claimed Odysseus sent him, she knew he was lying. But she had been barricaded in that house for the last 3 hours and she figured it was better to take the ride instead of waiting until it was too late. 

It had been around noon when Odysseus called, saying he’d find Telemachus at the university and meet at her home. Penelope was midway through preparing lunch, her laptop open and playing the news from the counter. The lasagna she had been working on for the past hour shattered into a sad mess of glass, sauce and blood once they showed the City Hall, on fire and thoroughly taken over by the infected, and the cameraman zoomed in on the most horrifying scene she had ever witnessed: a councilman crouched down, eating a woman’s face away while she screamed. 

With a blunt shove, she shut the laptop closed before she couldn’t swallow it down anymore and bile added a new layer to the mess on the floor.

“Shit,” she hissed. The sudden movement made her feel the sting of a glass cut down her left ankle. Penelope didn’t have time to care about this now, however. If the City Hall was in that state, Hell must have broken loose in every inch of town, and both her husband and her son were in danger. 

Sweat dribbled down her face and her hands shook while she tried to grab her phone and call Odysseus. She had just managed to unlock it when he called her first.

“You picked up,” was the first thing he said, relief palpable in his voice. 

Her eyes stung from the moment she heard his voice, both tears and frustration poured out of Penelope before she could steady herself. “Where are you? I told you not to leave the house today, why didn’t you listen?!” 

“My love, you were right, you always are, but I need you to listen to me.” It was hard to hear him over the sound of her accelerated heartbeat thumping in her ears, but Penelope told him to go on anyways, holding her breath as if it could stop dread from settling over her. “Eurylochus and I managed to leave the City Hall before things got ugly, we’re both fine.” She let out a sigh in deep relief and silently thanked the gods. “He’s going to get Ctimene, I’ll get Telemachus and call you. We are going to meet at the docks at 5pm and sail to Ithaca, ok? If I don’t show up until 4pm, you get the car and drive there, Eurylochus will get you to safety.”

“You must have lost your mind if you think I’ll go anywhere without you or Telemachus.” 

“Penelope, I know, but I can’t do this if I’m not sure at least you will be safe,” his voice strained in that unbearable way as he spoke, the way she knew he was fighting so hard to not break down, to be strong for her. “Please, promise me you’ll be at the docks at 5pm.”

She gripped the phone tighter. “At least let me meet you at the university.”

“It’s too dangerous, and it might take longer than just waiting at home.” Penelope opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off first, “I’m closer to Telemachus and I have a plan, let me handle this.” 

A sigh, then she closed her eyes. “Fine. I’ll meet you by 5pm.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They hung up. Penelope put her phone back into her pocket. First, she needed to wrap her ankle up, then she’d get to the car. Odysseus couldn’t be mad at her, she never said she’d meet him at the docks.  

The cut ran a little deeper than she first expected, but it wouldn’t stop her from being able to drive. She checked the bags she had packed a few days ago, when the disease began to spread, making sure the essentials were all there before putting them away in the trunk. Her fingers brushed against Telemachus’ lyre, which she picked up last minute, toying with the strings. Tears welled up again, but this time she just blinked them away. Penelope was going to see her son again, he was going to be safe. All of them were. Tomorrow, they would all be in Ithaca, starting over. 

She settled on the driver’s seat. Seatbelt, mirrors. All set. She made a quick prayer, asking the gods to watch over her family, and turned the key.

Nothing. 

No.

No, this wasn’t happening. She turned the key again.

Nothing.

The battery. The motherfucking battery. 

Wave after wave of anger, grief, fear, took over her senses, paralyzing her. Penelope felt light headed, as if she were floating out of her own body. She was stuck, there was no way out. If Odysseus never made it home, she wouldn’t be able to go after him, not from a place like this. Bile threatened to crawl its way up her throat again, she had to make a conscious effort to swallow it down. Deep breaths. 

In.

Out.

Again. 

“Well,” she whispered, “You can only wait now.”

Penelope carried the bags and the lyre back inside, still not quite accepting this set back. To think when they first bought this house, both Odysseus and her were delighted at the prospect of being away from the city center, somewhere between urban civilization and the countryside. A few weeks ago, when the disease was first disclosed to the public, their location still felt like a blessing, distant enough to keep them safe from the infected, but not completely isolated from the living. Now, it was nothing short of a trap.  

Maybe she should eat something. Her stomach still twisted in an unpleasant way, but Penelope figured at least she could try some bread; skipping meals wasn’t a very good strategy to survive the worst pandemic yet in the history of mankind. Right, she could prepare some sandwiches, for the boat ride. That should keep her busy for a while.

While making her way back to the kitchen, she passed through the trash bag full of glass shards, remnants of her failed lasagna. One of them cut through the thin plastic, catching the soft honeyed sunlight cascading through the windows. Penelope felt compelled to retrieve that particular glass shard. It was sharp like a knife but fit perfectly into the palm of her hand. Crouched down, twisting the glass in her fingers, she realized that, until this very moment, the thought that she might need a weapon hadn’t even crossed her mind. But it made sense, didn’t it? When face-eating cannibals roamed the streets, you wouldn’t want to be caught off guard. Like a whirlpool, a constant flux of thoughts swirled in her mind, surfacing and sinking with increasing speed, until a conclusion regurgitated right in her face: this is it, the end of the world; the rules of the game had changed drastically, and she nearly missed the memo. 

Penelope got up, tucked the glass inside one of her pockets and resumed her path to the kitchen. Her list of “essentials” might need an update, it seemed, but first she’d handle the food. 

Time dragged itself, each step slower than the last, like it taunted her. Penelope had used all the bread in the house and there was still 1 hour left until Odysseus should arrive. He should’ve gotten here already, she thought while staring at the clock, a deep line cutting between her eyebrows, teeth grinding against each other. She wanted to call him, or Telemachus, but she knew it was risky. The infected had shown signs of relying mostly on hearing to catch prey. Something about neural damage and worsened eyesight, or so they have repeated over and over in the news. In other words, a single ill-timed buzz from their phones and they could be done for. She had no choice but to wait. 

Penelope finished putting away the food, right next to the bags. She let out a sigh, deep enough it came out all the way from her bones, and decided to check her phone again. 

Great, no signal. It had been only a matter of time, really, and she had to admit it lasted longer than she had expected. 

But then her angry frown turned into one of confusion. She was used to the lack of noise, one of the perks of living closer to the countryside — but not this. It was still early afternoon, yet not a single bird sang outside. Even the wind seemed to make itself absent, along with the usual rustling of leaves. The complete silence engulfing their property was sinister in  a way not even the most blood curdling screams could have been. It was unnatural. As a nauseating chill cascaded down her spine, Penelope became all too aware of how utterly alone she was for many, many kilometers. 

She put her phone away and rested her hand over that sharp glass in her pocket. Her ragged breaths seemed to echo through the walls as loud as gunshots. She couldn’t stay there, she had to get out. There had to be a way out. 

There was a crack outside. 

Penelope grabbed the glass shard, nearly cutting herself again with the tight grip, and, step after careful step, walked to the window. The beige curtains concealed her like a veil, but her view also became compromised. Only half of the front lawn remained within her line of sight without giving away her position. Her lungs burned and chest tightened with tension, now she didn’t dare let even the faintest of breaths through. Long, torturing seconds dragged by in the company of the same eerie silence as before, undisturbed, and Penelope was about to declare false alarm. 

Another crack, closer to the window. Then a guttural, monstruos growl.  

That same nauseating chill took over her body, as if ice broke under her feet and she were sinking through a frozen lake, heart hammering inside her chest in a painful rhythm, and she had to remind herself to stay still, to keep quiet. 

Another growl, but, much to Penelope’s surprise, it changed midway into a coughing fit. The sound was coming from right under the window now, she was sure, and the high-pitched whine cutting through between coughs made another thing dreadfully clear: the creature on her porch was a child. Or it had been. 

But how? Sooner or later the virus was bound to spread its rotten vines and reach this part of town, and she fully expected a horde to show up on their doorstep any time now. But a single child… They had neighbours. Not very close, but she had met them on occasion. A sweet couple. And Penelope remembered the wife’s eyes glowing brighter as her belly grew, seemed like an eternity ago. Astyanax. That was the baby boy’s name. 

The burning in her eyes contrasted sharply with the cold settled in her gut. He couldn’t be older than twelve. Penelope forced herself to ignore any idea of what had happened to the rest of the family. She wouldn’t dare think of Telemachus as the little boy cried under the window. She wouldn’t give in to her instinct and cradle little Astyanax in her arms, to shush his pain away.  The little boy was as good as dead, it was out of her reach. 

Yet, she found herself straightening her posture. Penelope became a mere observer, trapped inside her own body as her legs carried her towards the front door, as her free hand roamed just shy of touching the doorknob. Of its own free will, her arm raised the glass shard above her head and she swung the door open. 

The little boy stood there, sniffing, eyes red with tears and dried blood. His little hands tried to grip his own shirt, but his blackened fingers, consumed by rot, couldn’t respond to any command anymore. Before he turned to face her, Penelope caught sight of his calf, or what was left of it. Bone showed through, coated in red, shreds of ripped flesh dangled from his leg; one small chunk fell off when he moved. Whoever bit him, had a feast. The poor little thing must have been in so much pain.

He just stared at her, mouth open and twitching like he struggled to breathe. She tried to remember what they talked about in the news, how in the early stages of infection, the victim still had moments of clarity. How some of them used that to appear normal and hunt down the healthy, for their hunger was too great. But Astyanax stayed motionless, if not for the nervous hands still trying to hold on to something. 

Again without permission, her arm lowered to her hips — she didn’t put away the makeshift blade, however. She held the little boy's wide-eyed gaze, like something in the air put both of them in a trance. Like this, he resembled more of a deer in headlights instead of a dangerous killer. 

“... Astyanax?” she said, voice hoarse from grief and fear. 

The boy nodded, mouth still hanging open, but no sound coming out of it. Maybe there was a chance yet, maybe if she took him to Ithaca with her, they could find a cure. Maybe she didn’t have to kill him, she could save him instead. He was just a child after all, and children deserved to be saved. 

Her resolve faltered when she took a step toward him and Astyanax took a step back. It wasn’t hard to tell he was trying to protect her from himself. 

A distant rumble echoed through the whole property, promptly disrupting their connection. A car. Her eyes shifted from the boy to the front gates. Odysseus, she thought, hope welling up in her chest.

But the car emerging on the road to her home wasn’t theirs. She was trying to reason with herself that Odysseus had to steal a different car to run, when it came close enough for her to realize that was not her husband behind the wheel. Throat closing up, Penelope found herself stuck between watching the scene unfolding or running back inside.

Clouds of dust obscured the car as it raced and the sound of engine and overheated tires grew louder. Once it got closer to the gates, Penelope tried to scream at them to stop, running down the porch steps — but everything else got drowned under the horrendous cacophony of the car crashing against metal and tearing down her gates.  

It kept going, dragging the bars through the yard like parading a prize. Penelope was sure she’d be run over at this point, and turned around, telling Astyanax to flee. Just then, the driver made one last drift, and stopped a hair away from where she stood. 

Seeking something aching to the comfort of his mother’s embrace, the little boy stumbled to Penelope as he wailed, terrified. She was about to catch him in her arms. But everything happened too fast.

The driver jumped out of the car and pointed a gun at Astyanax. A deafening stampede made Penelope’s ears ring. One moment, she was looking at the little boy stumbling towards her, the next, the front of her house was coated in his brains. 

Astyanax’s body fell forward, tumbling over the steps. What seconds ago had been the boy’s head stopped right next to her feet.

Penelope could hear nothing but the pounding in her chest ringing in her eardrums. She could see nothing but blood and lost innocence. She could feel nothing, body going numb. Her knees buckled, threatening to give in, but something interrupted her fall. 

“Are you ok?” said the driver, holding her arm, and his voice was familiar. 

Antinous.

Chapter Text

He should’ve listened to his mother. He should’ve just helped her pack the bags and leave, like his uncle suggested a week ago. God, if he had just taken Peisistratus and Nausicaa’s invitation to have lunch across the street today, he wouldn’t be stuck here now, surrounded by soldiers armed to their teeth. 

The City Hall had been lost, like the main police station two days ago. The situation had gotten exponentially worse in the last 24 hours but, as usual, leave it to the government to not want to “alarm” the people, just to let everyone navigate the crisis blindfolded and hoping they could pin the donkey’s tail before it turned around to bite at their hands. The university, as the largest installment closer to the hastily assembled military camp, had been assigned as their new “safe zone”. Which basically just meant they were turning to  — and failing — the same strategy over and over again, and that Telemachus was now a hostage in his own workplace.  

Fluorescent lights hurt his eyes and the strong smell of rubbing alcohol burned through his nostrils, almost making Telemachus sick. He was next in line for evaluation at the improvised screening station. Nervous fingers tapped a pen against his record, which Telemachus had just finished filing. This strategy was a risky one, might just earn him a bullet through the head, but certainly was his only way out. 

Someone called his name. 

Well, too late to back out anyways. Now he had to focus on being convincing. 

Telemachus raised his head in a slow, unsteady motion, trying to look dazed. Same when he got up, buckling knees, wobbly steps. The man who had called him stood next to one of the stalls, holding a white curtain open. Like most workers assigned to the screening station, he wore a paramedic’s uniform. The first thing that caught Telemachus’ eyes, however, were bright red curls loose around the man’s shoulders. When he staggered, this time, at least he didn’t have to pretend. 

Once Telemachus passed through the curtains and got seated, the red-head stared him down with sharp eyes — of a very pretty green, actually — and a stern frown. “My name is Neoptolemus, I will be the one conducting your evaluation,” he said in a monotone, almost like he was bored of the apocalypse, and extended his hand to get Telemachus’ medical record. 

He handed it over and Neoptolemus’ eyes scanned quickly through it, sometimes shifting between the document and Telemachus himself with an unreadable expression. Knots twisted and entangled in his stomach as he waited for a reaction. Just when he could feel the first drops of sweat threaten to dribble down his face, Neoptolemus finally set the document aside and reached for a pair of disposable gloves. 

“Have you had any close encounters with an infected? Any scratches or bite marks?” As Neoptolemus questioned him, he grabbed a thermometer, a small flashlight and a few other tools.

“Not any violent occurrences, but I did share a water bottle and a few meals with a friend who turned out to be sick later on,” he sounded confident enough as he answered, even though he knew it was a weak answer. But it wasn’t like he could materialize a fake wound out of thin air either.

“How long have you been experiencing the symptoms you described on your record?” same tone, same expression. This man was giving Telemachus nothing to work with. 

“About two days.”

Neoptolemus put the thermometer under his arm, then the flashlight to his eyes, examining Telemachus with unexpected gentleness. At least his hands were kinder than the man himself.

“And you showed up to work anyways?” 

Shit . 

“It was mandatory.” 

“I see,” he said, fingers now touching Telemachus’ chin. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out.”

Oh. 

He did as he was told, eyes darting everywhere about the room, and hoped his face wouldn’t flush too much. 

The thermometer beeped and his heart raced faster because he knew this might be the one thing to ruin his plan — thank God his blood pressure had already been checked.

Neoptolemus took a quick look at the thermometer, before putting it away and writing something on Telemachus’ record. He craned his neck trying to get a glimpse of what Neoptolemus wrote down, to no avail.

“Well,” Neoptolemus turned back around to face him, dropping the document on top of a small pile. “You don’t have a fever and your vitals seem normal, but you look pale and I can see you’re starting to sweat.” It was stupid to feel offended, but Telemachus did anyway. “I’ll personally escort you to quarantine, follow me.” 

Telemachus tried to not look surprised. This had been way too easy. A small part of him wanted to cling to that crumb of relief, but he knew something wasn’t right. Couldn’t be. Briefly, it occurred to him that maybe this man was about to lead him to his death without making a scene and alarming the others. Telemachus considered making a run for it, but Neoptolemus was faster, taking his arm and all but dragging him to the hallway before he even had a chance to react. 

Telemachus reminded himself to keep the act up, letting Neoptolemus carry most of his weight along as they entered a narrow corridor, and his mind raced trying to find a way to escape. His hands felt clammy and the uneasiness clouding his mind made his body spasm. Good , he thought. Spasms were part of the initial symptoms, at least that much he remembered. Maybe, for once, anxiety might be working in his favor. 

Once they took a turn left and were likely far out of hearing range, Neoptolemus stopped walking, but kept a firm grip on Telemachus’ arm. 

“You’re not infected,” he stated in a way that dared Telemachus to prove him wrong. But he refused to give up the act just yet. 

“You just assessed me, you—”

“And I’m not stupid. If you’re willing to fake being infected, you either have a death wish, or a plan to get out of here, and I’m interested.”

Telemachus didn’t answer. He merely held Neoptolemus’ intense stare, that bore something other than detachment for once, trying to figure out a way to convince this guy he was acting crazy. 

Neoptolemus took another step toward him, almost too close, and raised his eyebrows. The green in his eyes seemed to spark alive with biting determination. “So? You’re going to need me if you want your escape plan to work. Help me and I’ll help you.”

Telemachus wasn’t sure of what to make of the sudden harshness that Neoptolemus displayed. He had half a mind to chalk it down to desperation, they had probably reached the same conclusion about this place. There was a sort of earnestness to this new behavior, and Telemachus wanted to think he could trust this man — an ally like him could make his chances of getting out alive much, much higher. But if he played this wrong, consequences would be dire. 

“And you would just go and abandon duty?” Telemachus redirected. A neutral enough question to not be an outright confession. 

Neoptolemus scoffed. “This is their third attempt at a ‘safe zone’ in the span of 5 days. It’s only a matter of time before this one goes to shit, too, and I don’t want to be here when it happens.” 

Telemachus nodded and considered his options. He figured he had enough leverage over Neoptolemus to make this a safe bet. Telemachus needed him to avoid the soldiers, but it was he who had the keys, who knew how to avoid security cameras, and how to find the way out. And Neoptolemus would officially become a deserter, which put more targets on his back than just a civilian taking a chance at fending for himself. 

“Fine.” He motioned they should keep walking, and Neoptolemus followed, still holding his arm. “I know  a way out through the underground collections in the museum, where we keep ancient weaponry. They lead to a parking lot. We’d end up in the back of campus, closer to the main road. Then it would only be a matter of getting around the barricade.” 

Neoptolemus nodded as he spoke, a solemn quality to his expression that was closer to the previous detachment. Like he was putting on his uniform, preparing for the field. It made the reality of what they were about to face hit Telemachus harder. They might die. Or worse. Telemachus pretended to wipe his hands on his shirt, trying to distract himself, hold on to something. 

“I don’t know how you had planned to pass through quarantine security, but it’s clever to go through weaponry first, I’ll give you that,” Neoptolemus said.  

“What?” he blurted out before he understood the implication, “No, we can’t use those weapons.”

“They don’t work or something?”

“Some do, but they’re historical artifacts, we can’t just steal like that.”

“That’s what you’re worried about? We are going to be history if we can’t find a way to get rid of the infected crawling outside on the streets.”

He stopped in his tracks, Neoptolemus almost tripped after him with an angry huff. Eyes wide open, Telemachus could only stare at him in disbelief. This was his life’s work, the only reason he showed up here this morning, and this random paramedic was telling him to actively destroy it. 

Weaponry hadn’t been his first choice during graduation, but once he got this opportunity, and it was a huge opportunity, to help curate the university’s collection — well, he fell in love. He had been currently in the process of reworking his entire master’s degree proposal. He had only come here to make sure the collections would be safe, to make sure they would have something to come back to if they found a cure. 

If they found a cure… 

Neoptolemus let out a deep, exasperated sigh. His eyes met Telemachus’, but instead of the sharp annoyance he had expected, they were soft. “Ok, my bad. I can see this is important to you,” he said with surprising gentleness, and just a small hint of aggravation, “But I can also guess your life matters more, yes?”

Telemachus nodded. The weight of all the ‘ifs’ in their predicament settled heavy on his shoulders. “No, no, you’re right…” 

Naive. All this time he had been way too naive. 

Easy breaths , he thought, mimicking what Penelope taught him. In… Out… Again . 

He cleared his throat and resumed walking, tugging Neoptolemus along. “Sorry, you are right. It’s life or death now, no turning back.” 

The static quietness inside the collections could have been comforting. But in the last weeks since he had been on the front lines dealing with the infection, Neo learned to associate quiet with danger. Their steps were the only sound echoing in the stuffy halls, and that meant they were exposed. If any infected had gone undetected under the army’s scan, they could very well die here. Yet, he had no choice but to trust this stranger and hope he was making the right call.

With that in mind, he didn’t say anything about the quiet, he simply took it upon himself to stay alert for the two of them. Telemachus would need a clear mind to guide them out of here. Neo analyzed every crack and crevice of the white walls surrounding them with as much scrutiny as their pace would allow. At least there hadn’t been any traces of blood so far, and the only smell assaulting his nostrils were of old dusty paper and mold — too similar to the public library his stepfather used to take him to as a child. Unpleasant, to say the least, but mostly harmless. 

So he stomped down the anxiety trying to chew its way into his belly. Neither the nature of his job nor his own ever gave way to fear or hesitation — Neo was rather known for it in fact, his nerves of steel, even for someone in his line of work. Maybe afraid of what sort trouble could follow suit if his reputation nurtured his arrogance, his first captain had made a point to make Neo understand that any and all praise he ever got for it were nothing more than empty words from the mediocre. Neo was never to forget he was only doing his job and nothing else that was not expected from him. 

Neo agreed with the woman, even if he did like the praise. But he still believed it had to mean something when someone like himself was past the edge of fear and nearly tiptoeing the line of terror. All the officers had been under orders to not talk about the disease outside of the station, not even to their families. The smart ones got their things and deserted as soon as they had witnessed the first corpse. Neo should have been part of the smart ones.

A man had been declared missing almost a week prior. There was talk back then of similar occurrences being a sign that the disease was coming closer to an area. But that was all it was then, talk. It was just one missing man, the police had another hundreds of those on their hands. Odd behaviour and violent outbursts hadn’t been enough for his case to stand out, really. Any drug addict in the area might've fit the same description. 

Then they got the emergency call. A colleague of his got his hands on the leaked audio — the wife's screams as she watched her husband get cannibalized have stayed with Neo since. Constant white noise lurking underneath, flashing in and out of focus every time he got his guard down, like a beast testing the limits of its leash. 

The husband was dead by the time help arrived, and the police shot the infected down, who later got recognized as the same missing man. But the ambulances had already been dispatched, and Neo became one of the the first people in their district to witness just what type of ruin this disease brought about. The husband was so disfigured, it had been hard for anyone at the scene to understand they were looking at what had been a human being once. The shock came from people who had had their fair share of animal attack calls, bodies being crushed under tons of debris, people being torn in half. None of them could come up with an explanation to how a person could have left another one in such a state.  

That string of thoughts snapped loose once Telemachus raised his right fist, a sign it was agreed that they were about to stop walking. The security cameras couldn’t capture audio, and at this point they were already far from the hearing range of the soldiers responsible for managing the inside of the safe zone. Still, the least amount of sound coming out of them, the better. So they created their own code to navigate this place. 

Chastising himself for nearly letting his guard down, Neo stopped, eyes sharp and attentive waiting for the next command. 

Two fingers up, then they pointed left. They were about to take a detour, second corridor to the left. 

Neo waited until Telemachus raised his fist up again and they resumed walking. 

By the end of the corridor they entered, there was a big, dark green door. Telemachus pointed at it, and Neo hoped this was finally the weapons’ collection room. 

Once they stopped by the door, Neo assumed a defensive stand, positioning himself in front of Telemachus, watching the hallway as Telemachus fished for his keys and unlocked the door. 

The click of a lock. Then the low creak of an old door being pushed open. 

Telemachus rushed inside and Neo walked in backwards, until the hallway was out of view and the door was locked once more. 

“Finally,” Telemachus whispered. 

Neo sighed in relief. So this was it, they made it through the first half of the way.

When he turned around, the room was rather unimpressive, actually. It wasn’t particularly large and the low ceiling made it feel stuffier, almost claustrophobic pressing down on them. The only bright light in there was focused on the center of the room, atop a large table filled with tools he didn't recognize and the resources he'd come here for: weapons. Ironically, the harsh white light illuminating them, along with the placement of the table, made them look like holy artifacts resting solemnly on an altar, waiting for the right hands to wield them, the right souls to deliver into salvation. The thought was disturbing as much as it was ridiculous.  

Yet, despite his first goal standing right there, he didn't move. Maybe this weird guy was rubbing off on him, Neo stood there like a child afraid of being told off for touching what he shouldn't. So he just watched as Telemachus breathed in that smell of forgotten drawers like it was fresh air. There was also a distinct metallic scent permeating the room, it almost set Neo on edge, as much as it was familiar. More like an afterthought, it occurred to him maybe that was what Telemachus liked so much about this place — it felt familiar, and sometimes that's all you can cling to when everything else spirals into chaos. At least that was something Neo could relate to. 

After a brief pause, Telemachus led the way toward the table. Neo followed suit. Upon closer inspection, he noticed there were some interesting tools there, too; disposable scalpels, shovels, among other things. Although smaller, they were sharper and maybe more trustworthy than a broken spear-head, or whatever it was they kept down here. But he wasn't about to discard anything yet, might as well consider all of his options. 

As his fingers reached for one of the tools, Telemachus interrupted him, “That one's not working well.” Neo withdrew his hand as if it had been scorched. “It might break if you try to use it. I'll look for another one, wait a minute.”

Neo stood completely still as Telemachus turned around, opening a series of cupboards and drawers, muttering in annoyance. Something about people being messy and nothing ever being where it should be. It was a rather amusing sight, he’d admit. And it surprised him, too, that this was the most lighthearted moment he’d had in months. A tiny voice in his head warned him about letting his guard down again, but he shushed it. Neo knew this was only the beginning of the ride, and he’d take whatever peace he could still get. 

“I think we might have a spare box of scalpels…” he said under his breath, “Found them!”

Telemachus waved the box proudly, like he'd just won them a prize — and maybe he had. Neo found himself smiling. 

“Now, those I know my way around,” he answered and reached for a few packets. Not very practical to carry like this, but there was no doubt they would cut. 

“You've been a paramedic for long?” Telemachus asked.

“Three years, they wouldn't put you in the front lines if you had served less than that.” 

“Good thing I have experienced hands on my side, then,” an amused smile curled his lips as he spoke.

Neo smiled back. 

“I hope I can say the same for you.” 

“Of course, everyone knows to always look for an experienced museologist in moments of crisis.”

Neo breathed out a laugh, and Telemachus seemed pleased with himself, much like when he found the scalpels. They were quiet for a moment after that. The easy type, that you don't feel the need to fill in. Not that Neo was a talker, despite dealing with patients on the daily. He much preferred the more straightforward part of the job — you receive orders and you take them, you make quick decisions and you follow through. 

It occurred to him he didn’t have a plan for once they got out. Neo assumed their partnership would end as soon as they left the safe zone. But he hadn’t discussed it with Telemachus, and maybe he should. They had worked well together so far, yet, he wasn’t too sure it was a good idea to have someone he barely knew sticking around. 

“Everything ok?” Telemachus asked. Neo’s confused face might not have been too subtle, because he soon added: “You just look like you’re stressing out about something.”

“Ah.” Neo still didn’t think he understood what that question was supposed to mean, but he figured it was a good opportunity to bring up the partnership subject. “Just thinking about what happens next, once we’re out,” he answered, then blurted out, “Do you have family out there?”

“Yeah, both my parents plus my aunt and uncle…” his voice quietened down the more he spoke, “My dad was at the City Hall this morning, actually.”

Neo’s eyebrows shot up. Stupid, he shouldn’t have asked that. “I’m sorry…” 

Telemachus smiled. “Don’t be. If there’s anyone who can find a way out of trouble, that’s him. He’s probably with my mom right now.”

Neo smiled back, but kept his eyes down, watching his own distorted reflection against an old bronze blade, now almost taken over by rusty green. “Well, if he’s anything like you, I’ll have to agree.”

Telemachus leaned in with a feigned somber expression, like what he was about to share a chilling warning, “Oh, he’s even worse than me.”

Both of them chuckled, the thick air seemed easier to breathe in for a moment. Neo stifled the giddy surprise popping up the back of his mind when he thought, despite himself, that Telemachus was nice to talk to. Nice to be around, nice on the eyes... He wished they could have been friends before the world ended. 

“What about you, Neoptolemus? If you don’t mind I ask,” Telemachus said, after a moment of comfortable silence, as he tested what, in Neo’s eyes, might be a rusty spear head or something. 

Bewildered, he watched the gentle way Telemachus handled those objects. He held them with care, a sort of reverence, as if they were actual treasure instead of some old broken things, likely crawling with ancient tetanus. 

“Neo.”

“What?”

Neoptolemus stared right into those soft blue eyes. “You can call me Neo.”

“Right.” The way Telemachus shifted and his face flushed didn’t go unnoticed by him. “So, Neo, are you going to look for your family?”

“No,” he answered, considering for a moment if he should just leave it at that, before he continued absentmindedly, “My mom died three years ago and my stepfather got infected right at the beginning of everything.” 

Neo looked away, busying himself with what he guessed had been a sword once. Pity did nothing for him but make him bitter, and he didn’t want to risk finding pity in Telemachus’ eyes. That was not why Neo told him those things. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he told Telemachus anything at all.

“That must have been hard, I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he answered in a hushed voice. 

It unsettled him for a moment that he didn’t find the usual trace of pity in the way Telemachus spoke. The sorrow in his voice sounded genuine to Neo’s ears, like Telemachus did feel for him, instead of the forced and uncomfortable discontent he was used to. The more time he spent with this man, the odder he became in Neo's eyes. And he couldn't tell yet if it was a good thing or not.   

Neo shrugged. “At least she dodged this bullet. And I hadn’t been in touch with him or my father for years anyways.”

“My family has a boat,” Telemachus blurted out, “You should come with us.”

Neo stared at him with a look that couldn’t seem to decide between astonishment and indignation. 

“You don’t even know me,” he said with an attitude someone might as well direct at a senile old man.  

Telemachus turned livid. He looked offended, but it didn't seem to be at Neo’s tone, or at the implication he was being illogical. It made Neo more and more confused as he tried to put his finger on it. 

“Help me and I’ll help you, right? That’s what you said. If I get out of here alive, it’s also thanks to you.”

So that was it. Telemachus was offended at the mere idea of leaving someone else behind. 

Neo fell silent. Part of him wanted to argue with that logic, with the nonsensical comparison, but the other… He was just amazed. If he had been a worse man, Telemachus could’ve been endangering himself and his family with this proposal, but it didn't sound like he cared. No, maybe it didn’t even cross his mind, like he couldn’t think Neo was any less than a good person. That’s a dangerous way to live. 

“Let’s get out alive first, then we talk.” 

Telemachus seemed satisfied with the answer. They finished arming themselves and headed down to the parking lot. 

Chapter Text

Odysseus hung up the phone.

That was all he remembered after waking up with the sky hanging upside down.

He clung to Penelope's voice a little longer, wanting to stay with her wherever she was, reluctant to find consciousness again. The words she spoke made no sense, they lost themselves in the melody of her voice as it lulled him back into nothing. Where he had no body, no thoughts, just the pulsating warmth of her voice, like a beating heart.

It happened too many times, his body trying to find ways for Odysseus to react, yet he kept drifting back to where there was only Penelope's song. The voice that sang to him, however, got more urgent each time. If at first the words themselves felt distant and gibberish, now they were beginning to come into focus, like harsh sunlight that burns before making the world bright again.

The uneasiness somewhere inside him grew to the same extent as the urgency in her tone. It became harder and harder to drift away again. Eventually, there were three distinct words that he could make up.

Don't give up.

Each of them rang in his ears like harsh blows.

Don't give up.

With a loud gasp, Odysseus emerged. His ears kept ringing, his whole body screamed in pained protests, making him dizzy and unable to keep track of his own wounds.

Something pressed against his neck, making it hard to breathe through the growing panic. As he clawed at it, his wrists stung and he was sure at least one of them had to be cracked.

His fingers found the rough texture of the material clinging to his neck, and it dawned on him it was a seatbelt. He was still inside the car. Right, they had crashed.

Eurylochus—

Odysseus scrambled to free himself from the seatbelt, trembling fingers and sore wrists making the task harder as he groaned in frustration. He was careful enough not to break his neck once his weight got released onto his forearms. A grunt of pain left his lips, but he turned around to check the driver's seat as soon as he was able to move — empty.

A spark of hope threatened to glow inside him. Maybe Eurylochus had woken up first, maybe he would manage to find help. It had been a stupid thought in hindsight. Odysseus should've known there would be no help coming.

Help should've been their job, and they failed at it from the very start.

There was glass everywhere, some of it stained red, but he barely had time to notice it, too focused on getting out of the car. All of the windows had shattered and there was no way he could drag himself through them without earning a few nasty cuts in the process. 

Odysseus managed to shrug off his suit jacket, glad to find out he hadn’t dislocated a shoulder. Grunts of pain still huffed past his lips as he moved around, trying to wrap the suit over his forearms. With his mind clearer now, he could guess one of his wrists might have cracked although both were sore enough, and there was definitely a broken toe or two on his left foot. But he’d live.

Now, arms properly wrapped and dreading the cuts that would rip through his knees, Odysseus paused to listen to his surroundings before attempting to crawl out. 

Dead silence. 

Probably safe enough to stick his head out without an infected pouncing on him. But that former spark of hope was inches away from getting snuffed out. If it was so quiet, just where was Eurylochus?

Maybe he had thought Odysseus was dead and left on his own. At least that was something he couldn’t blame his brother for. 

A sharp inhale of breath, then he began to drag himself through the front window. Holding in as much air as he could to remain quiet, Odysseus got his body half-way through mostly unscathed thanks to the suit. He paused again, to check the area. 

Like lightning striking down on his head, grief overtook him with a jolt that pushed out all the air he’d been holding in the form of a strangled cry. 

Eurylochus lay there, a few meters across from him, neck crushed against a lightpost. His legs strung about in weird angles, yellowish peaks of bones poking out from underneath his dark skin. And red, so much red. 

An angry whirlwind took over his head all at once. His vision spinned as if he were in that tumbling car all over again, memories of the accident flashed in and out of focus, cutting through his thoughts like the glass under his knees. The horrifying sound of Eurylochus’ body crashing against the front window slashed deep enough to leave an ugly scar. 

Odysseus stood there in shock, falling deaf to the pained protests ringing all over his body. In vain, he kept telling himself to look away, get the hell out of that car and look away. It all felt too surreal, however, his usually sharp mind was unable to keep up with the tragedy unfolding before him. It wasn't supposed to be like this, not to them. They were supposed to make it out of here, Odysseus had a plan. 

That was his first mistake. Arrogance. There was no man-made scheme that could cheat Death, he should've known. 

For the first time he wondered if this is what being infected felt like, becoming a spectator to their own body as it seeked out blood on its own, moths forced to dance along to the tune of licking flames. 

Eventually, he crashed out from the repugnant sight, physically unable to take it anymore as his body rejected it in the form of spasms in his stomach — any and all of its contents spilled onto the pavement while he gagged. Cold sweat trickled down his neck and his body trembled, but Odysseus knew he had to do something. He had no idea of how long he had been out inside the car, nor how much time he’d wasted standing there staring at Eurylochus’ corpse.

There was no time for grief. So he dragged himself further, not caring about the shards digging into his knees, about the tears on his clothes and skin, he just had to get out. Once his body was free from the car, Odysseus tried to get up, balancing himself on his not so bad foot. It was a difficult task, and he had to shove his jacket between his teeth, nearly tearing through the fabric to contain an agonizing scream. His toes were already swollen inside his shoe, of that he was sure, and they throbbed through bolts of pain that spread upwards. He’d need to find himself a cane, and fast. 

Odysseus stops and stares at Eurylochus’ body, broken and battered on the floor and finds himself unable to leave. It’s his best friend there, his brother. What would he tell Ctimene? He barely even remembered how the accident happened. 

But Telemachus is alone. Penelope is waiting for him. 

Eyes brimming with tears, Odysseus stumbled towards Eurylochus. Each step was excruciating, but he pushed through until he was close enough to cover Eurylochus’ face with his own suit— then he caught a spasm. 

Eurylochus’ hand twitched. Odysseus knew better than to give it a second thought. That was just something that happened to recent bodies, end of story. And yet, his eyes kept scanning, looking for signs of life. What good would surviving this do Eurylochus anyways? His body was mangled and Odysseus couldn’t save him. It should’ve been his job to guide them safely to the docs and he failed.

Just as he was about to turn around, Odysseus caught another movement coming from the body. This time, it was something he couldn’t ignore. Eurylochus’ head moved from side to side, as if looking for something. Then a strangled cry came out of his throat. 

Odysseus was down on his knees faster than he could even react to the pain and uncovered Eurylochus’ face. 

As soon as Odysseus lifted the jacket, Eurylochus lunged at him, but as his upper torso rose up, his broken neck made his head drop backwards, and it was the only thing preventing him from snapping his teeth right into Odysseus’ face. 

“No— No!” the screams ripped from his sore throat knives as he scrambled back. Then a third one when he leaned on his cracked wrist, falling to his elbows. 

Eurylochus’ deformed body tried to drag itself in the direction of sound. It stumbled in an odd, sinister rhythm, broken bones unable to support its own weight. Gurgled noises still forced themselves out of what was left of the man’s pipes, but ‘human’ was not a word that could describe them. Odysseus nearly convinced himself he’d died and ended up in Hell. 

Of all of the ways he could’ve failed his brother, Odysseus had let Eurylochus become one of those monsters. Odysseus had forsaken his right to a dignified death, and now he had no choice but to watch the grotesque mutilated puppet Eurylochus turned into right in front of his eyes. 

Odysseus should have ended it. He should have had the decency to end that show of misery. He should have been a man. 

But he couldn't.

With difficulty, he got back up. And stumbled away as fast as his feet would let him, leaving an agonizing Eurylochus behind. 

It was hard, holding back the urge to wretch again. But Odysseus swallowed it down, forcing the image and the pain out of his head. Focus, he needed to focus. There was only one goal now, and it was to get Telemachus on that boat, away from this fresh Hell. 

The one thing he couldn’t put his finger on was the silence. Before they left the City Hall, horns blaring, people crying out, things — and bones — being broken, that cacophony filled in all the gaps until his ears felt like they might fall off on their own. Now there was barely the sound of a horn in the distance, a few people screaming scattered through the streets and away from his sight. The only telling signs of the apocalypse were the crashed cars, broken lamp posts, black smoke rising from different places around town, most establishments broken into and the blood. So much blood. The metallic tang took up the air like a pest. If he hadn’t known better, he’d fear catching the infection just by smelling it. 

Maybe all the blood wasn’t so bad after all. Concealing the living like a red cloak while the dead were left confused and roaming, looking for their next victim. Still, his hands shook, his heart beat in an erratic rhythm pounding against his ribcage and filling in his eardrums. He might be just one wrong corner away from finding a hoard. His odds weren’t good, and a few broken toes wouldn’t help his case. 

A cane, he thought; first look for a cane, then keep going. Which way, he wasn't too sure. The streets were familiar enough and there was a good guess he was only a few blocks away from the university. But Odysseus wasn’t used to walking through this part of town as much as driving whenever he’d pick Telemachus up. 

A suffocating tightness took over his chest at the thought of his son. Odysseus leaned against a dirty wall, trying to keep his balance and steady his mind. If he were to save Telemachus, he couldn’t think of the worst. Not now. Focus, you need to focus. 

Stumbling among the shadows, between corners, among abandoned cars and anything that could shield him, Odysseus had nothing to fight with either. His gun and knife stayed behind inside the car and he couldn’t afford the time to get them back. Nor did he have the courage. 

Walking had become excruciating. Not only would his wounded foot protest at each attempt at a step, his good leg started to cramp with the effort of keeping balance. Odysseus was panting, sweaty and thirsty. Between avoiding possible danger — he’d almost ran into two separate groups of infected —, keeping track of the way and staying on the move, he was exhausted. And losing time. 

The ride should have been fast, he shouldn’t have let Eurylochus drive. He could be with his family right now, safe. 

Part of him was glad Agamemnon had been the first of them to die. Menelaus had left with his family two days before, the second of them giving up on doing anything else. Third was Nestor, after the poor old man had lost his eldest son to the disease. Odysseus had heard through Telemachus part of the family had stayed behind, but wise old Nestor got his wife and daughter and fled as soon as he could. Agamemnon, on the other hand, refused to lose “his” city, as if being mayor made him any less vulnerable than the rest of them. 

Then Achilles, the first of them who gave up, showed up to parliament after two days of going missing. Everyone had assumed he had left at this point, so surprised they hadn’t noticed. The twitch in his eye, the way his stance changed entirely. Achilles had always been arrogant enough to walk like a King — it had been easy to miss when he began walking like a predator. His teeth ripped Agamemnon’s ear off while his nails dug into the mayor’s neck, and so the City Hall was lost, along with everything else. 

It was disturbing, horrifying, how the town had turned into shambles so fast. Less than a day, they had lost all control in less than a day. Most places he passed had already been raided and he’d had no success in gathering anything useful until now. But Odysseus kept on firm. Giving up or stopping were not options. He failed once, and he couldn’t afford himself another loss. Not when it involved Telemachus. 

Finally, a hardware store came into his line of sight. Compared to other places, it didn’t look too damaged. He approached with care, as light on his feet as someone in his condition could be. There was a car parked just across the street from the store and he crouched behind it before moving on. 

The streets seemed clear, yet he stayed put. One clammy hand rested against the car, the other dug into his shirt. Odysseus only had one chance, and he knew it. If he got caught now, it was over. 

Deep breaths.

When he was about to move, something happened. 

The loud sound of heels clacking against the ground echoed from around the corner. Then, a girl came running. She moved like a blur, her ragged breaths almost as loud as her heels, but Odysseus got a glimpse of red hair, as well as  something glinting in her hand and blood covering her left arm.

She came into a halt in the middle of the street, eyes darting everywhere, likely looking for a place to hide. Odysseus cursed when she turned in the direction of the car shielding him. But she had wasted too much time looking around.

Just seconds after the girl surged forth, the unmistakable guttural growl of the undead echoed behind her and another infected girl lunged from the exact spot the first one had come into view. Her blond hair was matted with dried blood and a huge chunk of her upper arm was missing, with bones showing through. Despite the obvious broken ankle dangling useless from one of her legs, the infected ran fast and straight for the first girl. 

Instead of deflecting or trying to run away, the girl stood her ground. Odysseus was impressed with her bravery, or stupidity, when she just turned around and kicked the other in the middle of her chest. It sent the blond backwards, right onto her ass, but such a high kick also made the red-head lose balance. The knife she had been holding flew from her hand as she stumbled backwards, falling to one knee. 

It landed right in front of Odysseus, sharp and inviting. Time seemed to slow down as he looked between the weapon just within his reach and the defenseless girl, likely about to be eaten alive. While the red-head fell, the infected was quick to recover, rising to her twisted feet. Odysseus grabbed the knife. 

The infected girl's feral snare was cut short just as the knife pierced through her throat. Odysseus crouched back down as soon as he threw the knife, biting the inside of his mouth to stop a pained groan. From this new angle the car blocked part of his view, but he could still spot the red-head getting up fast, snatching the opportunity he’d given her with a fierce grip. He sighed, relieved, and hoped she could make it. If he had just let the girl die, he'd have to deal with the infected himself, and he figured she had a better chance than him right now. 

A shrill cry left the red-head, then the vicious hiss of metal stabbing flesh. Odysseus dared to peak over just in time to catch the blonde going limp, body falling backwards, the knife still stuck to her eye socket. Her skull hit the ground with a disturbing crack. 

Odysseus hoped the girl was still scared enough to run, but watched as she walked towards the body. She stepped on the blonde’s chest and pulled the knife out with some effort, then wiped the blood on her own pants. He wasn’t surprised when she turned around in his direction, knife raised and lips pursed. 

“Where are you?!” She called out. 

Resigned to his fate, Odysseus leaned onto the car and propelled himself up, stumbling into view. Better to make this quick than lose even more time than he already had. 

“It was impressive what you did there,” he said as he raised his arms, trying to appear harmless. 

“Funny you only showed yourself after I handled it alone,” she said, not lowering her knife and ignoring her own bleeding arm, red rivulets flowing down and dripping through her fingers now. 

“Hey, I did give you a hand, didn’t I? And yelling like that is just going to attract more of them, you know,” Odysseus replied easily. 

“And how do I know you’re not one of ‘them’?” She sure sounded angry for someone this small. 

“You’re bleeding right in front of me and I’m not trying to attack you.”

The girl didn’t seem too convinced by his argument. Odysseus was getting too tired to care. 

“Listen, I just want to get into that store. You see this?” He pointed at his bad foot. “I need something to walk properly. Car crash,” he added, before she could question where his wounds came from. “I’m already at a disadvantage compared to you, yes? I’m just asking you nicely to step aside.” 

Her grip on the knife was still tight, but her expression softened just slightly. Part of him hoped he was just already getting light headed from blood loss. Maybe if she fainted, this could be easier. 

“Wait… Aren’t you Telemachus’ father?”

Odysseus’ stance faltered, he nearly dropped to his scratched knees. 

“Who are you?” he asked, voice and gaze firm in contrast to his trembling body. If this girl knew Telemachus, the dynamic was about to change drastically. 

She tensed up again at his reaction, but the answer came in a wavering voice, “I’m Nausicaa. Telemachus and I are friends from work.”

They came into an understanding easily enough after that. Nausicaa also wanted to get back to the university and take her car, which was still parked there. The deal was simple, they would help each other reach the place, Odysseus would find a way to get them inside and she would guide him once they were there, helping him find Telemachus. 

Nausicaa hissed as Odysseus applied rubbing alcohol to her arm’s cut. They had found it while rummaging inside the hardware store, along with other useful things. Odysseus now had a copper pipe for a cane, which he’d padded with cloth to make less noisy, and a hammer for a weapon. The same cloth he’d used for his cane he now wrapped around Nausicaa’s arm as a makeshift bandage. 

“That’s nasty, huh,” he said. The cut wasn’t too deep, thankfully, but it was wide, taking the whole front half of her upper arm. 

“I was at a restaurant with my other friend when it all started. Panicked people can be just as dangerous as the infected, I think.” 

On that, he agreed. 

“What about your friend?”

The look she gave him mirrored something in Odysseus himself, something fresh and stinging just like the cut in her arm. No words were needed for him to understand. 

“We lost each other in the commotion,” she said anyway, voice quiet. 

Odysseus thought about his own friend, lost among the chaos, and silence made them company as they prepared to leave. 

“Nausicaa, wait—” 

But she was already off, running faster than he could keep up with. 

Arms raised in the air, she approached the cluster of soldiers behind the front gates watching the barricade. “Hello! Please, help us! I work here, I need to get inside!”

None of them stepped forward, but a few of them visibly raised their guns in her direction. Odysseus considered staying behind, to find another way around and leave Nausicaa to fend for herself. Yet, that girl knew the building better than him, she might be his only way to find Telemachus before they ran out of time. And he couldn’t bring himself to watch the poor girl getting gunned down by scared, stupid men. 

Odysseus stumbled forward; it was getting harder and harder to walk, but he pushed through. Just like her, he raised his free arm in a show of good faith. 

“What’s that on your arm?” one of the soldiers yelled at them. 

Nausicaa stepped back just in time for Odysseus to catch up. Her voice wavered when she answered, “I just cut myself— I can show you if you let me.”

“Nausicaa,” he spoke, loud enough for them to hear, “Let’s go, they are not letting us through. You’d think the armed forces are here to help the people.”

“Sir, we’re just doing our jobs,” the same soldier, likely a sergeant, said. 

“Your job is pointing guns at an innocent girl and a crippled man?” Odysseus took another step forward, putting himself in front of Nausicaa so his makeshift cane was visible. “What do you think we are going to do, break down the gates with our bare hands?”

A long pause. 

Odysseus tore his attention between the men and any signs of infected people approaching them. The longer the two of them stood there, completely exposed, the worse. But he had to let the soldiers make the first move. 

“Weapons down!” the sergeant yelled, finally.  

“May we approach?” asked Nausicaa, head peeking over his shoulder. 

“Ma’am, we cannot let you in without authorization from our superiors,” the man had enough decency to sound sorry as he said it. So he was the soft type, Odysseus could work with that. 

“Sir,” started Odysseus, “This is my niece, she is a valuable employee at the university. She left to have lunch with her old uncle and most of her things stayed in there — her documents, house keys, cellphone. We only need to get her things so we can contact our family and leave you alone. Please, we don’t want to cause any trouble.”

Nausicaa stood next to him and encircled her arm around his. “Please, Mister! My uncle is telling the truth, I have my work badge to prove it.” She waved the cord around her neck, displaying the badge to them. “If we can’t get in, I won’t be able to go anywhere without my documents, we’ll be stranded here and left to luck alone,” she finished with a sob. It was disturbing how fast fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Smart girl. 

They heard the sergeant sigh. He turned around, facing away from them, but Odysseus caught him saying something into the radio attached to his uniform. Adrenaline pumped in his veins like lightning coursing through him, but Odysseus forced himself to appear calm. 

Seconds passed by, Nausicaa was still crying in an award-earning performance.

Then there was rustling behind them. 

Odysseus whipped his head back. Nausicaa gasped. 

At first they couldn’t see it, but then it surged forward right from across the street. It staggered out of a clothing store, an old woman in a tattered dress, missing a shoe and a few fingers, a gaping wound on her bare thigh. She sniffed the air, expression dazed. Then she spotted them.

The woman seemed stunned. She stared at them with wide eyes and a sob echoed out of her bloodied lips. Odysseus forced himself to look away and glance at the armed men; guns hadn’t been raised yet, but he could catch a few fingers brushing over triggers. As he fished the hammer out of his belt, his eyes met with the sergeant who had been talking to them. The man’s expression was unreadable, yet he had a feeling both Nausicaa and himself might be left on their own. 

More sobs echoed as the woman stumbled on her wounded leg towards them. A shiver rocked over his body at how ominous it sounded, his hand tightening around the hammer’s shaft. Nausicaa held on to his arm for dear life and Odysseus found himself leaning closer to her in a protective manner. He thought about Telemachus, praying to every god he could think of that if at least Nausicaa made it out of this, may she help his son. 

On high alert, they all waited. Bated breaths, watching, expecting the woman would burst forth and attack them. 

She stumbled in their direction again and, much to Odysseus’ shock, cried out, “Help me! Please help me!”

“What?” Nausicaa said under her breath. 

No one made a single move, but the woman kept walking and crying out in a choked voice. Odysseus kept trying to make sense of the disturbing scene, how could an old person so wounded even be on their feet? She must have lost a lot of blood. She should be dead. 

It dawned on him all the blood on her was dry, despite her gaping wound. A sickly purple spread over her skin, like a bruise that got too big, like her blood vessels exploded all at once. Her movements seemed stiff and, as she got closer, he noticed small spasms taking over her maimed hands. 

“That’s… She’s not…?” Nausicaa whispered, voice tiny and unsure. 

“Run to the gates,” Odysseus said, pushing her away from him, armed hand ready to strike. 

In a flash, everything changed. 

Nausicaa took a single step back and the woman’s choked cries transformed into guttural screaming. Like a beast, the woman lunged forward baring her blood stained teeth.  She ran towards them with a speed her old body should not be able to endure.

Nausicaa turned and ran to the gates. 

“Please do something!” she yelled at the soldiers, voice cracking with desperation.

Odysseus met the woman half-way through and swung at her. The hammer connected against her cheekbone, breaking it with a nauseating crack. She staggered back, but only seconds went by before she was going at them again. 

Odysseus lost his balance as he was forced to put weight on his bad foot. He fell to one knee, groaning in pain. Nausicaa screamed his name, but the woman’s growl was the only thing he could hear as she lurched. 

He raised his cane in an attempt to block the woman’s snapping teeth. 

But when he looked up, she just ran past him.

What the— 

Nausicaa’s arm. 

Odysseus tried to stand up, but kept losing balance. He was helpless, forced to watch the infected bolt towards Nausicaa. Her bandages were red with fresh blood, the cut must have opened again with the exertion. 

“No!” he screamed, trying to drag himself towards them. 

Nausicaa had her knife drawn back, but she was shaking, eyes blown wide and red with tears. The fierce girl who he had watched killing moments before seemed to be gone, snapping away with the woman’s infected teeth. It didn’t make sense, but all Odysseus knew was that she was going to miss. He would not be able to save her. 

Eurylochus, bloody and broken, his brother, flashed in his mind. Odysseus couldn’t save him either. His sister was alone, and it was his fault. Telemachus was trapped inside those gates and Odysseus couldn’t reach him. Penelope was home waiting for him and he would never make it. 

“Duck down!” someone yelled at them. 

Nausicaa crouched down wailing, but it got drowned under the sound of shots being fired. He covered his ears too late, they were already ringing by the time the third and final shot put the infected woman down. 

The old woman’s body fell down with a harsh crack, only a few steps away from reaching the gates. Adrenaline still ran its course inside his veins and it took him a while to believe they had made it out of it unscathed. Or mostly. His chest heaved against the pavement and pain flared up again through all of his previous wounds, biting and dizzying. Nausicaa was still on her knees, both hands pressing her ears, body shaking like a trembling leaf. For the briefest of seconds, he wondered if this was the first time she had ever heard a gunshot. 

The quiet that followed in the heels of roaring guns jarred Odysseus into movement. It was a matter of time before all the commotion attracted more trouble and they were still on the other side of those damned gates. He reached for his cane again, fighting tooth and nail against the pain so he could bring himself to his feet. Then he turned his attention back to the shaken girl before him, still not quite putting his finger on what brought the drastic change in her demeanor. 

“Nausicaa,” he called, stumbling towards her. “Nausicaa, dear, are you hurt?”

She lowered her hands and looked at him, shock slowly appearing to be wearing off. Then she cleared her throat before talking, “I’m fine, uncle,” she choked out, “these men saved us.” 

Her tone was stale compared to the performance she was delivering before, but Odysseus was glad to confirm Nausicaa was still in the game with him. 

When he was about to turn back to soldiers and make his move, the sergeant beat him to it. 

“Lower your weapons and let them in.” Someone tried to protest, but he cut them off, “I won’t repeat myself.” 

Nausicaa scrambled back to her feet and helped Odysseus get through the gates faster. Finally, finally both of their goals were getting in reach. 

“Thank you, sir, thank you for having mercy on us,” Odysseus said, tearing up. But he looked past the men, as if he could see through the buildings’ walls and spot Telemachus inside. As if he could let his son know he was there through his prayers alone. 

The sergeant raised a hand, stopping Odysseus and Nausicaa from advancing further. 

“My name is Leotides, I am responsible for this squad,” the man started, “And I will personally escort you inside. It will be a quick trip, you get her things and leave. Are we in an understanding?” His tone was firm, but not harsh, like he truly only wanted to help and expected them to cooperate. 

Guilt pinched just slightly inside Odysseus’ chest. “Of course, sir.” 

Their group got a few long stares from stationed officers inside the halls, but Leotides’ presence was enough to stop any questions from being asked. Odysseus had no problem acting confident as they walked and Nausicaa was too apathetic to show any signs of nerves or suspicion either. He tried not to stare as he put the pieces together of what had gotten her shaken up to that point. 

“You knew that woman, didn’t you?” Odysseus asked. 

Her shoulders tensed up and she looked away from him. Lips trembling, Nausicaa inhaled sharply before answering. “Her name was Eurycleia… She worked here for 30 years, everyone liked her…” There was a pause, like she might elaborate. But whatever else Nausicaa had to say, stayed with her. Odysseus knew better than to push. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Nausicaa faltered, looking back surprised as if she had forgotten Leotides was still there behind them. A nod and a tight smile was all she managed back at him. 

Odysseus squeezed her shoulder, like an affectionate uncle would, and waited for her to resume walking. The only thing disturbing the silence that fell between the three of them was the soft thud of Odysseus’ cane against the floor. 

They had to walk across campus to reach the human sciences department, but it was still a short trip. The sun illuminated the outside area, undisturbed by the chaos taking over the rest of the city. The greenery shone bright and beautiful, and Odysseus could’ve almost pretended it was a normal day. But his gaze was sharp and searching, he wouldn’t dare miss any signs of his son. It was that vigilance that he noticed how short the surrounding gates were compared to the entrance. And how unguarded they were as well. Too easy to jump over. He had been right when he told Eurylochus the so-called new “safe” zone would be as safe as the rest of town soon enough.

Telemachus was too smart to try and escape over the gates, on foot, unarmed and alone, but part of him panicked asking himself, what if he had done that? What if Telemachus was alone outside right now and Odysseus would be left with no clue about him? He tried to smother those thoughts, trying to have some faith, as he was sure Penelope would tell him to do, but he couldn’t stop the frustration souring his heart. Even after everything he’d gone through, Odysseus didn’t seem any closer to finding answers. 

Nausicaa fished for her office’s keys once they’d finally reached it. As she unlocked the door, Odysseus gripped his cane tighter, preparing for what was to come next. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss it, of course, how to get rid of Leotides. But he still trusted she understood they had to and stayed alert for any upcoming opportunity to do so properly.

It came sooner than Odysseus expected, when Nausicaa pretended to trip and fall just as she opened the door. 

“Are you ok, miss?” Leotides asked, quickly moving to help her. 

Odysseus swung the copper pipe he’d been using as cane. It connected straight with the back of Leotides’ head. 

Nausicaa got up and dragged the now unconscious man inside the office while Odysseus shut the door behind them. 

“Did you kill him–”

“No!” Odysseus snapped at her under his breath, and motioned for her to keep it down. “Hopefully not.”

“He is a good man…” she said distantly, sounding more like she was talking to herself. 

“And it got him like this,” Odysseus replied, words burning his tongue with regret as soon as he spoke them. Nausicaa eyed him for a moment, weariness clear in her eyes. “I just don’t want you to think he wouldn’t have executed us if he thought we posed any danger, that’s what he was trained for. We have to protect each other, okay?”

His deflection appeared to have worked enough. She nodded at him and the subject ended there.

Working as fast as he could, Odysseus snatched the gun from the fallen soldier and searched him for anything else that could be useful. He took the other man’s radio speaker as well, just for good measure. 

“You know how to use a gun?” She seemed skeptical.

Odysseus tucked the gun away and got up with difficulty, grunting in pain. Nausicaa quickly reached to help him. He thanked her, breathless from the effort.

“My sister is in the military. So was my father. You end up learning a few things.” 

Her surprised huff went ignored as he adjusted his cane again. Once Odysseus was ready to keep walking, Nausicaa took on her role as guide.

“Well, he’s not in the office, so we can rule that one out. It leaves us with the collections, the underground parking lot, or the safe zones: the auditorium or the cafeteria. The first two are in the same direction, towards the left wing, while the other two are closer to where we are now,” she finished as she placed the books back onto her desk.

“Your car is underground, I assume?”

“Yes.” Her eyes lingered on the desk a moment longer. Odysseus hoped he was wrong to interpret that hesitation. 

“If we’re going to look inside the safe zones, we have to do it fast.”

She shifted her gaze to the unconscious man on the ground, then back at Odysseus. There was something sharp in the brown of her eyes, it made him think of Penelope. Her voice was firm as she answered, “I know you need a guide. But I won’t follow you into the safe zones.”

The gun on him burned bright white at those words. Nausicaa seemed to have forgotten the disadvantage she was at. If he were a worse man— No. Trust is what he needed from her, not fear. She could easily guide him into a trap, this was her territory, not his. 

A sigh left his lips.

“I need you to be honest with me,” he met her sharpness with soft vulnerability. A father looking for his beloved son, Odysseus was no more than that. “Do you think there is the slightest chance Telemachus escaped?”

“I meant it when I say, if I were him, I’d try for the parking lot. It’s the closest way out to the main road.”

She seemed earnest enough, but Odysseus had seen her act at the gates. Nausicaa was Telemachus’ best friend, and that had to mean something. Yet, hadn’t Odysseus been Eurylochus’ brother?