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The air chilled Rhys’ bones as he and Feyre trudged through the woods. They had both lost track of the time months ago, when all power had cut out, but the shorter days indicated they were nearing winter. The backpack carrying most of their supplies weighed down on his shoulders, while Feyre scouted a few metres ahead, and his legs ached from their constant use. Since the world had gone to shit, they had both been forced to trek through dark forests and abandoned towns to survive. They had been separated from Cassian, Azriel, Mor and Amren days ago when a horde had passed their camp, and they hoped to make it to an old high school they had spotted on their travels to regroup. If they weren’t killed on the way there.
Feyre reached the top of a hill a few metres in front of him, and pointed. Rhys ran the last few steps, to see the school they had been looking for for days. He kissed the top of her head.
“We’re almost there, darling. When we find the others, we could set up a base there for a while.”
“Sounds like a good idea. My legs are going to fall off soon.” Feyre smiled. They stayed there for a moment, looking at the view from the top of the hill. They had both learned to enjoy the peaceful moments in this new life they had been shoved into. But they couldn’t stay there for long, so they kept moving.
He didn’t want to upset Feyre, but he was doubtful that the rest of the group all got out alive. The last glimpse he caught of his friends before the horde descended was Cassian jumping in front of Mor, holding off the first few Dead for her. It hadn’t looked good from where he stood, but the crowd of writhing bodies had forced them apart. If they ever did find each other again, how many of their group would be left?
Rhys didn’t let his fear show as they carried on in the direction of the school. Hopefully, it would be a school that hadn’t been used as a safe place while the disease was still spreading. All the ‘havens’ ended up practically being vending machines for the Dead, and quickly became overrun.
To calm himself, he took Feyre’s hand in his, and started to hum “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You”. It had been the song he had sang to her all around their house before the world turned upside down. When they were waking up, when they made pancakes in the kitchen, when they were snuggled up on the sofa, enjoying each other’s presence. It always made Feyre grin, and her smile each time he sang it was imprinted into his memory. Even now, the corners of her mouth tugged up, and Rhys couldn’t help but smile too.
What felt like hours later, they reached the clearing. In front of them stood the small school. Rhys weighed up their options. The school was out of the way, and was too small to have housed a lot of people for safety, so they stood a fairly good chance of not walking in to a horde straight away. Still, they both grabbed their knives, and cautiously made their way out of the clearing.
Rhys lead them to a back door he had spotted. It must be an entrance to the kitchens, meaning they could hopefully stock up while they were here. Rhys entered first, silently placing one foot in front of the other, machete raised high. A couple of work tables had been tipped over, and a few cans were strewn across the floor, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw stacks of large industrial cans filled with food. It looked like someone had been there before them, but had left the food behind.
“Feyre,” Rhys whispered, “I think we just hit the jackpot!”
Feyre padded in and saw the cans, and her jaw dropped open. They hadn’t found proper food like this for months.Her eyes lit up.
They couldn’t help but practically run towards the food, their growling stomachs goading them to be quicker. But this momentary loss of control stopped them from seeing a long piece of wire connected to a door on their right side. Feyre caught her leg on the wire and was sent careening into the cans.
“What the –” Feyre started, but then looked up to see the door that had been connected to the wire crash open, revealing
hundreds
of the Dead, processing the loud noise. They turned and started to shuffle through the door.
A trap. It had been an elaborate trap, set by the last person who stayed here. Rhys didn’t know why someone would do such a thing, but he didn’t have time to contemplate before the horde started to close in. He dashed towards Feyre, hauling her up from the floor.
“Go for their heads!” Rhys roared as they circled them both.
He wished he had time to get the handgun out of his backpack. Would they get out of this alive?
Rhys didn’t stop swinging, and neither did Feyre. But when one of the Dead fell, another one took its place. More and more poured out of the door way, overwhelming them. They needed to cut a path through and get to the exit on the other side of the room.
Before he could put his plan into action, however, he saw one of the Dead break off and lurch toward an unsuspecting Feyre.
No!
Rhys turned and swung his machete into the side of the Dead’s head, but didn’t realise another took its place and lunged towards him.
A sharp pain flashed through his forearm, before Rhys used his other arm to elbow the Dead off his arm and grabbed Feyre. They needed to get out. Now.
The next minute was a blur. The movement swirling around them almost putting in a trance.
Swing, thud. Swing thud.
The Dead were groaning all around them, the noise almost deafening. But they made it closer and closer to freedom with each sickening crunch. They shoved the last of the horde away from them and dashed for sunlight. Rhys tugged on Feyre’s hand, insisting that they keep running until they were lost in the trees.
Finally, they both collapsed on the ground, exhausted. Feyre panted, sucking in the cool air beside Rhys.
“I’m sorry I set that trap off; I should have checked.” Feyre wheezed.
“It’s alright. If you hadn’t, I would have anyway.”
An almost hysterical laugh bubbled out of her. “We survived, though! When we find the others, we’ll have to tell them.”
The laugh warmed Rhys’ heart slightly, but it didn’t outweigh the crushing weight forming over his heart. He managed to smile at Feyre, before he told her they needed to find some water and walked off.
He didn’t dare to even acknowledge his arm until he was out of sight from Feyre.
Please let it be a scratch.
Rhys prayed, but he knew deep down that it wouldn’t be. The Dead’s teeth had been too close to his arm.
Rhys peeled back the sleeve of his coat and stared for a moment. Blood oozed out of the punctures in his arm.
Teeth
punctures.
Mother above.
He sank to his knees, and a tear slid down his cheek. How would he be able to keep Feyre safe when he was going to die?
**********
Rhys returned to find Feyre sitting against a tree, sorting the supplies in her backpack. He plastered a smile on his face and wrapped her in a hug. He must have sat in the woods for the better part of an hour before he steeled himself to go back to Feyre. He couldn’t tell her. She would only get upset and insist they go to find a derelict hospital to find medication that worked. Nothing worked against the infection once you were bitten.
She pulled away, but Rhys held on for a moment longer, trying to ingrain the contours of her body into his mind. If he was going to die, he would remember every little thing about Feyre.
“I didn’t find any water, but I have a bit left in my bottle if you need it.” Rhys offered.
“Thank you. We should rest now, it’s almost dark. Maybe the others will still be around the woods tomorrow?”
“Good idea. There’s a tree with some branches we could sleep on down the hill. It’ll keep us off the ground.” As if Rhys needed to be careful any more. It didn’t matter to him; he only cared about Feyre now. He needed to find somewhere safe for her to live, but where was safe anymore?
They climbed up the tree’s limbs towards the ones that intersected. Rhys’ arm screamed in agony each time he pulled himself up on it, but he refused to make a sound about it.
Feyre nestled herself into Rhys’ lap, murmured a “good night” and placed a kiss on his cheek. She fell asleep in his arms immediately, but Rhys stayed up most of the night, partly from the pain in his arm, partly because he was so afraid he might go in his sleep and harm Feyre. He stared at her blonde waves, and the spattering of freckles on her cheeks. Why did the Cauldron have to be so cruel? He loved her so much, and soon, he wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. He whispered the lyrics to their song.
“Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be.”
His voice cracked on the last line.
They were meant to be, so why had their time been cut so short? He wanted to grow old with her. He wanted to make her grin everyday with his singing. He wanted make sure she didn’t have to worry about surviving the hell they had been plunged into. But when he went, what would happen to her? She would be on her own if they didn’t find Cass, Mor, Az and Amren. The thought made his stomach churn.
Rhys looked up to the the stars shining in the pitch black sky through the few leaves left on the tree. It almost looked like they were twinkling for just him, waiting for him to say something. On their first date, Feyre and Rhys had looked up to the sky together and each made a wish. They had felt such a strong connection in those moments, that Rhys always looked up to the stars now and remembered that night.
“Someone, anyone… Please looked after her when I’m gone. She doesn’t deserve to be by herself.” Rhys sobbed quietly, trying his best not to wake Feyre. More tears ran down his face, and his face crumpled. “I would do anything.”
The stars only twinkled in return.
**********
The punctures in Rhys’ arm seemed to sap all the energy from him with each passing hour. Even in the freezing air, Feyre remarked how warm he felt when she woke up. He checked his arm in the morning light after not getting much sleep. It still seeped blood, and the flesh around the wound had gone from red to purple. He managed to swallow a few bites of a granola bar before giving it to Feyre, insisting he wasn’t hungry. He would only be able to keep up his facade for so long.
Feyre had pulled back to his pace for a while, the crunch of leaves under their boots the only sound in the silence of the woods. The quietness became unbearable, so Feyre started to sing their song quietly, waiting for him to join in. He could barely process his feet plodding on, one after the other, but for Feyre, he would sing.
“Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can’t help falling in love with you.”
His heart cracked at those words, but he stumbled on, showing no pain to Feyre.
**********
The second night wore on, but Rhys hadn’t had one minute of decent sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, visions of clouded eyes, ripped skin and cracked teeth flashed by. That could be his end, if he didn’t finish it before the infection changed him into a creature like that. He had seen the effects of the infection on everyone around him. He would become paralysed for the last few hours of his life.
Once again, he wept under the stars, sending as many prayers he could to the Mother. Feyre never woke; she just lay there, nestled in his arms. Would she be able to understand? He needed to stay as long as he could to help Feyre. Rhys just hoped he could hang on.
He fell into a restless doze, still humming their song.
**********
The day seemed to pass in a haze. Rhys couldn’t shake the fuzzy feeling in his head, and his legs felt leaden. The bite mark pulsed with heat and pain, and it took almost all of his energy He clung onto his backpack for dear life, hoping it would give him some semblance of stability.
He was pretty sure Feyre was starting to become suspicious. She kept at his steadily slowing pace, looking at him with concern. He couldn’t even bear to look at her. Couldn’t bear to let her see the sorrow or the growing terror in his eyes.
The daylight was beginning to fade, when Feyre stopped.
“I think we should rest.” She said, eyeing Rhys’ slouched posture. He almost sighed in relief, but he cursed himself when he remembered they had still not found anywhere safe yet for Feyre. He felt dizzy, and pressure had been building in his head for most of the day. She decided to set up a small camp, while she allocated him to get the firewood. He made it all of two steps before his vision went black around the edges and his knees felt like jelly. He fell to the ground, and didn’t have the energy to move. He knew it. This was the end.
“RHYS!” Feyre cried as she rushed towards him, dropping down next to him. Tears streamed down his face, but his throat felt dry as he whispered “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”.
“What’s wrong, Rhys?!”
He couldn’t sit up or move his limbs, so he dropped his gaze towards his arm. Towards the terrifying truth they would now both have to face. Feyre reached over and gently pulled back the sleeve of his jacket. This time, he couldn’t stop the groan that rattled out of his mouth. Feyre winced at the pain she caused him.
But then she saw the bite marks on his blackened skin, rotting his arm away, and she gagged.
“Mother above! Rhys… why didn’t you tell me? Cauldron damn it!” Her voice was getting higher and higher in her hysteria. Her voice cracked as her eyes brimmed with tears.
“I wanted you safe.” Rhys replied. Numbness was spreading up his legs, and when he tried to move them, they wouldn’t budge.
“We could have found you
help!
”
“There’s no cure Feyre, you know that.” He rasped. It killed him to say it, but he carried on. “My gun is in my backpack.”
“No, I can’t, Rhys. You can’t make me do that!” Feyre caught on to the implication. She was sobbing now, face crunched in panic and horror.
“Please Feyre, you
have
to. I don’t want to turn out like one of… them.
Please.”
Feyre took a few calming breaths and pushed herself up, shaking, and went over to retrieve the discarded backpack. Rhys lay still on the floor, the numb feeling snaking its way up his legs. She pulled the gun out, and dropped it on the ground between them.
He had so many things to say to her. He wanted to tell her about the way she had always made him smile after a rough day at work. The quiet evenings that they spent together, that repaired his weary soul. How he would never stop loving her, even when he passed on, to whatever came next. He couldn’t put all of his feelings into words in time, so he hoped that his eyes conveyed all of his emotion as he started to sing.
“But I can’t help falling in love with you.”
Feyre finished the last lines of the song for him, and burst into tears. She placed a long kiss on his forehead, and he savoured one of the last touches he would receive from his love. It was dark now, and Rhys could see the stars twinkling back at him. He sent up one last silent wish, and hoped that the stars were listening.
Please protect her.
Feyre picked up the gun, hands shaking almost uncontrollably. It took all of Rhys’ strength and willpower to lift his arm and place his hand over hers. He gently tugged her hand to the side of his head, and lined the barrel of the gun to his temple. He had to stay calm, for her.
“I love you Feyre, and we will find each other in the next life, I promise. I will never stop loving you.”
“I love you too, Rhys. Too much to even comprehend.” Feyre sobbed. Her hand was still shaking, but she almost looked more determined. She wanted to carry out his final wish, even if it killed her.
He looked up at the stars for the last time, then focused his eyes on Feyre’s. He wanted them to be the last thing he saw.
“Good night, Feyre darling.” He whispered.
“Good night, Rhys.”
Her face crumpled as her hand steadied. He stared into her beautiful eyes as he felt her hand squeeze the trigger underneath his.
Rhys heard a loud bang, before his vision went black and he was swept into oblivion.