With every step carefully thought out, their trek around the hoard of horrors went smoother than expected. Afoot so feather light, both men could hardly hear their own steps. Passing by that many eyes (poor vision or not) was an incredible feat.

Brian's plan to dive head first into a sea of bodies had worked out. 'And Justin was worried.'

He allowed a swift smugness to drop by for a visit. Unfortunately, as quickly as it'd come, Brian's brain kicked it out. His tiny victory was terribly short lived.

No, it had not been the walk through the street that had raised the heads of the dead. It was Brian's tripping on the corner curb that had posed the problem. More specifically, it had been the involuntary swear word that hit the air like a hiss of steam.

As he scrambled to get back upright he realized that while eyes may not have seen them…many ears still heard.

A staggered sway swept the street, moving like no ocean ever could.

'Ok, so perhaps his plan had been flawed.' Brianadmitted to himself all but throwing Justin into the alley.

Quickly scanning the available helpful materials, they quietly agreed on a torn piece of chain link fence.

It had once been secure, it now stood propped against the wall. It still looked sturdy and was taller than both men. Brian tugged and Justin joined him, bringing it to gate the opening as much as they could.

With human speed on their side, they managed to reinforce the loose fence by pushing a dumpster in front of it. It had not been as easy as it had always looked in the movies. It was rusted, disgusting, and really fucking heavy.

Catching his breath Justin felt a stinging pinch to his bicep. A rouge edge of metal must've pierced his shirt. Glancing he observed a tiny tear. His arm was probably not punctured enough to bleed but surely enough to bruise.

In a reality withholding much to appreciate, he was grateful that zombies beat out vampires for the lead in the apocalypse. If he was bleeding it would draw death right to his breath. Not that he was exactly being discreet at the moment, he and Brian were less than invisible to the gruesome gang cornering them.

"Are you ok?" both men asked the other in unison.

Both also checking over their partner's body in lieu of their own. Content that Brian has not twisted his ankle, Justin glanced back to the more pressing, walking threat. Brian however remained fixated on him.

"I'm fine." Justin blurted anxiously, tugging at Brian's arm. The man just stood there like he hadn't heard him, his attention still searching for the smallest scratch.

Blue eyes widened as he watched more and more of their not too friendly admirers approach the mouth of the alley. He was steady slapping Brian then, "Brian. Let's go. Move, now. Now. NOW!"

The stern command seemed to snap Kinney back in place, which was only slightly more terrifying than the place he'd just been. Trapped inside one past memory and then another. In both, Brian had been assessing Justin's injuries.

'A flash of movement. A smile. The piercing crack of a bat that broke too much. Blood running colder than the cement. Justin!...Justin!...Dust. Lights. Screams...Justin!...So much fucking dust. I love you. ..I love you...'

"..NOW!" He was back in front of Justin now. He was not the boy from the memories. He was stronger, the smile was older now but no less beautiful.

A slice of pain cut through his chest for a moment. 'Christ, he missed that smile.' The macabre backdrop that was their world, needed to see that smile.

Justin looked at him now, wary but adamant. His eyes focused and mouth in the hard line it too often was.

Brian read Justin's look clearly…That while they were both fine now, if he did not move his ass they would not be for long.

He lifted his head to gauge their current surroundings. A tall wall of aged brick seemed to close in on them from either side. Brian couldn't recall what exact buildings they were or their size. At the moment both appeared to meet the sky, effectively ruling out a climb to freedom.

The alleyway itself felt as cluttered and chaotic as his lungs were starting to feel.

Mounds of trash piled in all directions. Not that that much mattered anymore, the entire world had become humanity's wasteland.

A land of rebirth but no growth. No life.

Various debris formed stacks in obvious patterns of concealment. Tattered materials created make-shift hideaways. Each that was now an empty salvation.

Monsters were things of nightmares that dwelled in closets and beneath beds. There was no place they wouldn't look. No place for you to hide.

Those same places now deemed a prime opportunity for safe-haven turned hunting post. Brian put an arm out to still Justin before walking upon that which they could not see. Who knew what lurked within.

The ever growing mob still pushed toward them. Chain linked metallic rustles clanged back, thankfully not giving way. The blocked entrance (now too, a blocked exit) spilled the men deeper into the alley.

Terror pooled around them, coating their shoes along with a substance neither wished to identify.

Clink. Clink. Back and forth garbled groans crescendoed at various intervals. A chilling chorus.

"The barber shop." Justin spoke and gave a general flick of his finger in the direction of the closest unblocked door. 'Curl up & Dye' Salon.

Brian nodded and hoped the sign was not narrating a foreshadowed event.

He kept his eyes on his feet navigating his way through the clutter. He tried too to keep watch on Justin ahead of him and any surrounding threat. Two eyes? Not enough.

He stepped forward and heard a snap. A hollowed crack. The dry brittle break of a wishbone. Brian had given up wishing months ago.

Instinctively he pulled back his foot and studied what it'd stepped on. A hand. Attached to a wrist, attached to a body he'd recognized. The crunching beneath Brian's foot left remnants of dusted bone. Fingers were severed but he couldn't tell if by boot or decay.

The not quite dead corpse lay sprawled long ways against brick. Brian felt Justin draw nearer and again put out an arm to halt him. He'd been grateful he couldn't see his partner's scowl. Justin shouldn't be getting closer to it. Closer to it's head, it's face. Where the biting and the chewing happened.

The deadhead shifted attempting to stand. Brian withdrew his gun and aimed it at it's brain. He addressed the barely recognizable trick. "Hey Todd, How's it going?" He asked.

"Grrrrr—uhh-ahhh." It replied.

Brian pulled the trigger.

"You know Todd, I think I preferred when you wanted me for my body, not my brain."

That which wasn't Todd moved again; although it wasn't one to rush.

The corner of it's mouth was flaked with blood and tears of flesh. The lower half of it's face was flayed open; it flapped a little with the motion. The deep wounded skin folded and stuck to a more fresh glistening spatter of blood (Presumably from an unfortunate passerby).

The hideous face seemingly smiled. It added a new level of disturbing discomfort.

Brian jolted at Justin's yelp. The monstrous, crumbling hand tried to tug at the blond's pant leg.

He couldn't let that thing get Justin. Everything can die. Sometimes you just have to kill it again. With that philosophy in place, Brian pulled the trigger for a second time.

"Brian we're fine, Let's go!" Justin commanded, not bothering with the hushed stage whisper he'd long since perfected. With two gunshots singing out, stifling sound was pointless.

Brian tried and failed to tune out the increasingly louder clanking of the fence. The only barrier saving them from the feasting festivities. The jangle of it loosening, a gentle scraping. At the moment the fence was more a wishful thought than protection.

The brunet grabbed the strong silver toned handle of the salon's backdoor. It was sticky. STICKY. He went to clear the offending hand on his pants but paused.

Things that should not matter when facing impending death:
1. Touching gross things.
2. How good you look in your clothes.

Oh, who are we kidding? This was Brian fucking Kinney. He wiped his palm on the back of Justin's shirt; who was opening the door himself.