#elijah would have pretty underground bunkers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

🧟(+Henrik)

send a 🧟 to try to survive the zombie apocalypse with my muse.

ft. ( @ofisolaticn )

it starts suddenly. the CDC tweets about an outbreak in atlanta and the country starts panicking. they say it’s a new strain of a flesh eating virius but instead of it crashing your nervous system as it spreads, your brain functions slow but you remain alive as the tissue spreads and devours you whole. it’s a lot messier than the walking dead made zombies look and it’s made that much worse knowing that your loved ones are still alive, still suffering until you cease their brain activity completely. it’s in atlanta, in his garage, that daniel has to murder his wife in cold blood after the disease spreads too far. it’s spread by blood to blood contact so he’s safe. dalia worked for the CDC, was infected during a routine blood draw when one of her patients lunged and bit her arm. from there, the patient escaped and thus began the outbreak. PATIENT ZERO.

( he kills patient zero with a tire iron. hits, and hits, and hits, until the body on the ground is unrecognizable and his shoulders are shaking with sobs. )

he leaves the city immediately. he gets in his car and drives. on the radio he hears reports of other cities that have been impacted: florida, the carolinas, louisiana – a big majority of the south. traffic is a nightmare, everyone fleeing and trying to escape. he loses track of the people he kills – anyone with a bite, anyone lagging behind, they’re expendable. he hardens because he has to, because he won’t survive if he doesn’t. ( he made a promise to her, to dalia. he needs to find a cure, needs to save the people she couldn’t. he needs to LIVE even if he wants to curl up and die. HE PROMISED. )

when he makes it to new york, the city is in shambles. a few airlines had been operating and the disease has spread from coast to coast. people walk the streets with weapons, the population estimated to have been reduced by 15%. he finds his brother, they head to the family cabin and they plan to wait out the chaos. they have a storm shelter their father’s father built — underground, stocked with enough non-perishables to last a few years, give or take. it’s supposed to be the two of them, the warren brothers against the world, but his brother reveals the truth – he’s infected. he would have shot himself days earlier when he found the scratches but wanted to see his baby brother one last time. daniel barely has time to react before his brother pulls the trigger, blood splattering against the window of the car. tears well in his eyes as he leaves the car behind, barricades himself in the bunker and gives up. he goes through the motions, he exists, but he’s tired. for the first time, his promise feels too heavy, too hard, to keep.

a year goes by. people are dying by the million, the world’s population reduced into the millions. at least in north america, he has no idea what’s going on internationally. the space station is down, as is the internet and phone lines. there’s an old AM / FM radio he uses to keep up on what’s going on in the world and even that dies after the first few months. he’s gotten so used to the quiet, to not speaking, that when a voice crackles through on the old radio he almost doesn’t hear it. it’s a man, says he’s a survivor and there’s an encampment in san francisco. he gives the co-ordinates and daniel is torn. the man is stupid – he’s ASKING to be killed – but it’s the first spark of hope he’s felt in months. so he shaves, he packs, and he drives. he siphons gas from cars on the way, ditches whatever beater he has and goes on foot during the times he can’t keep the tank full. it takes him 3 months, give or take, but eventually he arrives at the encampment. it’s on fire.

“ fuck. ” his voice is gravelly, hoarse from lack of use. he finally makes good use of that mask, grabs a shotgun out of the back of the truck and approaches. the place has been looted. there are dead bodies everywhere, food and ammunition stocks pillaged with nothing but empty boxes left behind. it’s a dead end. everyone and everything is gone. in anger, he kicks a table over. he’s about to turn the gun on himself, promise be damned, when he hears a groan. someone is still alive. he pauses, listens hard until he finds the source. there’s a man buried under two bodies. there’s a long gash on his cheek and a bullet wound in his leg but he’ll survive. daniel extends a hand to help him up, watches the man hesitate for a minute before allowing the help. “ what’s your name ? ” he asks, then asks again when he gets no answer. the man doesn’t answer – he’s traumatized, or maybe in shock, so daniel sighs and carries him out to the truck. it’s going to be a long trip back to the bunker and if they don’t get that leg healed, it’ll end up being a SOLO one.

( maybe it would have been merciful to let the man die, to give him release from the hellish existence they leave. maybe he’s too selfish, or maybe he’s tired of innocent blood staining his hands. maybe he’s tired of being alone. maybe it’s a culmination of all of the above. )

he has enough supplies in his truck to get them to arizona. the pharmacies are pretty picked over but he finds one that hasn’t been touched yet and feels like it’s a miracle. he removes all the obstacles that are blocking the back door, only to realize that the blocks were to keep things in … not to keep things out. he’s about to see a pair of teeth sink into his throat when a shot embeds itself into the infected’s skull. blood splatters across his face as he throws himself backwards, watching in wonder as the man shoots every single one of the infected perfectly. there has to be 20 and between the two of them, they’re able to clear out the infected and get to the medical supplies. they pack quickly, knowing the infected will have heard the noise nearby and come for them. it’s only when they’re back in the truck that daniel let’s out a sigh of relief. it was too close for comfort … reminding him that he doesn’t want to die. not like that. not like this. “ thanks. ” the man doesn’t reply, simply smiles and takes the medication with some water.

the man let’s daniel bandage him up when they’re another town over but no words are spoken. it’s weeks before the man finally says a word, whispers it between bites of the stale beef jerkey they’ve been eating for days. daniel looks up in confusion — more about the fact that he spoke, less about what he said. “ my name. ” the man clarified. “ it’s henrik. ” daniel waits to see if he’ll say anything else but he stays relatively silent. “ daniel. ” he introduces himself. “ glad to see you’re still alive in there. ” the man cracks a smile at that, which seems to dismantle whatever catatonic sate he’s been in since he picked him up. the man – henrik, is from new orleans. he was with his family when the outbreak happened. their sister was infected fist, taking two of the brothers down with her. henrik, their mother esther, kol, and elijah took off as the city was descending into chaos. by the time they reached the stronghold in san francisco, it was just henrik and elijah. their brother nik made it to san francisco eventually, having been presumed dead by the family, but he and elijah had been among those killed at the sanctuary. their deaths had left henrik alone in the world – traumatized, the last of the mikaelson family. bonded by trauma, they connected. suddenly, his promise felt possible. he could survive, he could FIGHT, because finally he wasn’t doing it alone.

for the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe. there was hope.