Chapter Text
The wind pushing against Phil’s wings must have activated something genetic the virus had left behind because they grew to have six meters worth of wingspan. They kept their flexibility and hung half a meter above his head when fully tucked against his spine. Though, keeping them folded took more muscle than just letting them hang.
So now Phil walked the streets followed by heavy, grey feathers that cast long shadows against the blood drying on pavement. He caught his reflection one day and noticed the halo they created around his head when he splayed them, perhaps that’s what inspired the nickname he had been given.
The Angel of Death
He didn't know what he did to deserve it, but after he had saved a large group of survivors from an equally large horde, he heard the name whispered between wingbeats. The name seemed to move faster than he could fly, soon everyone he encountered spat the name back at him with false reverie.
Phil had soared across the coastline three times since the apocalypse had started, each trip had taken longer than the last. Not because he had grown tired of travel, but because he found it harder to return to land each time he took off. The sea was so peaceful, even in choppy waters there were no barges, no speedboats, no groans of engines or zombies clogging up his ears, just the crash of waves.
Currently he was riding an updraft heading east about a kilometer away from the coast. The wind screamed in his ears and chilled his face numb and he had never felt so at home. He reached the top of the draft he had been riding and twisted into a fast plunge towards the ocean.
Just before he hit the waves, Phil splayed his wings and rode over the water until he reached the shore. He touched down on a sea wall with a heavy wing beat and just stood there, feeling the call of wind on his back fighting with the draw of food from the city beyond.
Phil made his way further into the city, he unholstered his axe and kept an ear out as he meandered around for a shopping center, looking not just for food, but a shoe shop.
You see, after five months of winged living, Phil had a particular dilemma, his wings were far too heavy.
There was another reason he had been staying in the air for longer, his legs had started to give out when he did touch down. Not only did this keep him aloft, it also forced him to travel lighter than he would have liked. Currently Phil had the clothes on his back, his axe, a small canteen, and a journal.
Despite this, his knees had buckled when he last landed and after dragging himself off the ground he had winced with every step. He found a plaza with a library and took the time to rifle through some of the health books while resting his legs. Phil learned that had become too heavy for his knees, he would need to strengthen his legs and maybe find better shoes. After he took off he promised himself not to spend as much time in the air and to steal the nicest pair of shoes he came across. He ignored the part of himself that feared the whispers that followed him on the ground and pushed on.
Now he was standing in front of a shoe store he wouldn’t have even glanced at before. Phil stepped carefully through the shattered frames that used to be the front door. The lights had long since been shut off but he could picture what the bright white walls and statement shoes would have looked like in their prime. He took a sip from his canteen and started searching through the discarded shoes.
After killing a lone zombie in the back and looking through the nice hiking boots he had found one suited to his needs. But as Phil was about to leave to find a place to spend the night, he heard the sound of crunching glass and voices close by. Shit.
Phil ran from the door and hid behind a display shelf, pulling his wings in and clutching his axe close. He listened intently for the voices and waited for them to get far enough away, but they only got closer. Phil held his breath as the voices passed in front of the store.
“I’m just saying, we have all the food we could ever need, there's a clean river pretty close by, and -watch out on your left- and we have actual electricity. Why the hell would you want to go with these weirdos? Or worse, let them into our base?”
“Because we aren't the only ones alive right now, and we're not gonna be able to rebuild if we don't trust anyone for the rest of our lives. Also, you're talking about them as if they wouldn't be good people to be friends with, Niki is a doctor and Jack is an electrician! What if you get hurt? What if the-”
The footsteps stopped.
“Who's there?” one of the voices called, Phil could hear glass shifting across the floor as someone stepped into the store. Phil supposed that he'd already been caught, there was no reason to hide. He stood up.
“Hey mate, sorry for the scare” Phil tried to keep his voice light as he surveyed the survivors in front of him. Phil pulled his wings in and put his axe at his hip, but didn't stow them completely.
“It's fine, I think we're all a bit jumpy right now” The person in front of him was swallowed by shadows despite the sun still being up. As they walked out of the store Phil realized why, their skin was covered with tiny, iridescent black scales. They got smaller towards their face spiraling in to surround clouded, milky eyes.
“My name is Phil, I’m wearing a green coat and I have wings. What's yours?” Phil made his steps heavy so the person could hear him. They were blind, assumedly from the virus taking his eyes. It wasn't uncommon to find people who had been sick for just a bit too long.
“Hi Phil, most people call me Bad, this is Skeppy, please excuse his silence he's just being rude.” The man, Bad, gestured vaguely behind him to another survivor, one with rough, bluish patches scattered across his skin. His eyes were dark and looked at Phil with distrust, not blind then.
“Yeah hello Phil, nice talking to you but we really got to go.” Skeppy reached out to grip Bad's arm and started to gently tug him away from Phil.
“Skeppy” Bad warned firmly, “Phil, if you don't have anywhere to be, we would love to have you over at ours. No pressure” he offered with a bright smile, Phil glanced at Skeppy. He looked annoyed and wouldn't take his eyes off of Phil's wings, but there was nothing that indicated he would be an issue. Phil smiled.
“Sure”
The trek to Bad and Skeppy’s base was quiet, Skeppy was having a whispered argument with Bad and Phil had fallen back to give them some privacy.
They were currently walking through a small forest on the outskirts of the town. Phil was taking the opportunity to break in his new shoes and figure out how best to load his steps to avoid putting too much weight on them. He was trying to puff his wings out enough that they may cushion his steps when Skeppy whirled around to face him.
“When did you get the wings?”
“Uhh, in the outbreak five months ago? Why?” Phil answered, but Skeppy turned back to Bad.
“Nothing. Don't worry about it” he mumbled, Bad stopped walking.
“Okay, Skeppy that's unfair and you know it. Explain.” He crossed his arms and gestured vaguely between Phil and Skeppy. Skeppy groaned.
“Ugh. Phil, do you know a guy named Jack Manifold?” He asked with exasperated disinterest. Phil wracked his brain but found nothing.
“No, I don’t. What does that have to do with my wings?” Phil was getting tired of playing this game. He wasn't usually one to talk with survivors, much less follow them home, and Skeppy was only reinforcing why that was the case.
“Well we met him the other day and he had some interesting stories about you being all high and mighty about your mutation. Flying off with their stuff, making deals for their lives. You know some people actually have to fight for their lives, they can't just run off whenever they want”
Skeppy was red faced now, and walking towards Phil in a combative stance. Phil put a hand on his axe and was about to flare his wings when Bad interjected.
“Skeppy stop. Phil, he's not lying, but he’s not telling you that Jack heard this from someone else.” Bad was slowly making his way towards where Phil and Skeppy were facing off, and while Skeppy never took his eyes off Phil he still gently warned Bad about the rough terrain underfoot.
“Jack is staying with us right now, he can explain more and I'm sure he would be a lot nicer then Skep is being right now.” He shot a withering glare in Skeppy’s direction and turned back towards their base, walking off with the confidence that they would both follow.
Skeppy looked Phil over once more, lingering on his wings. Phil straightened to his full height and kept walking. Skeppy followed.
They made it back to the base with no further incidents. Bad sent Skeppy to find Jack and gave Phil a quick tour.
The base was a farmhouse about a kilometer from the city limits. The sprawling property contained a main house, two barns, a silo, and a few acres of farmland. Bad told Phil that he and Skeppy had been living here since they found it abandoned and how they were trying to make it a functional farm once again.
Phil quickly realized that Bad was one of the people who had tasked themselves with rebuilding humanity. It was easy to tell from the way he talked about farmable land and manpower to the way he measured supplies in people, not time. Bad talked at length about finding other survivors and inviting them back to the farmhouse to begin a compound.
“Skeppy is actually really passionate about this too, he’s just… protective I guess. We had a not so good run in with some people a couple months ago and he’s never gotten over it.” Bad sighed and looked out to the solar panel farm they had been scraping together.
“I know what you mean, I’ve been across the country a couple times and the longer it’s been the less good people I meet.” Phil said sadly. “It’s unfortunate but it also keeps us alive. We can’t afford to be nice to everyone”
Bad’s mouth twisted, but he nodded anyway. The silence was broken by Skeppy yelling from the main house for them to come in. Bad chuckled.
“Maybe his caution is good. I wouldn’t be able to do this without him. He balances me out, keeps me grounded.”
Another shout interrupted them. Bad laughed.
“Ok I think he wants us back, he’s probably found Jack and maybe Niki. You’ll love them, they’re super cool.”
Bad started walking back to the house, but Phil stood still. The wind was blowing through his feathers in a cheap mockery of flight and it made him ache for the real thing. His primary feathers twisted into the breeze and he felt the space between his shoulders itch but he stayed grounded.
Bad was looking back at him with a weird expression, Phil started walking back with him.
As they approached the porch, Phil saw Skeppy standing with a man that must’ve been Jack. Jack looked entirely normal, tall with brown hair wearing jeans and a white shirt. The only slightly abnormal thing about him were the two toned glasses he wore, but he didn't seem to have a mutation.
Jack was looking at him with unguarded suspicion. It was obvious enough to rival Skeppy's, who stood beside him wearing a similar look. Phil braced for an argument but kept a smile on his face.
“Hey mate, you must be Jack. I’m Phil, it’s a pleasure” Phil offered a hand to shake, which Jack accepted with a stern grip.
“Jack Manifold. Pleasures all mine. I was told you’ve heard about me already” his voice never wavered, and he never took his eyes off of Phil’s wings. Phil pulled them in self continuously.
“All I’ve heard is that you’ve heard of me”
“Oh I’ve heard of you, Angel of Death”
Phil sighed, “You met Eret’s crowd then” Jack clicked his tongue and relaxed a touch, but kept an eye on his wings.
“Eret’s “kingdom” and I crossed paths a while back yeah. He had lots to say about how you stole food from them and left them stranded in the early days of the apocalypse.”
Phil ran a hand through his hair and gestured inside, “I’d rather sit down for this, it sounds like you have quite a story to tell.”
Jack smiled and walked into a sparse living room just inside from where they were standing. Phil took the opportunity to rest his legs and stretch his wings without causing panic. Skeppy and Bad were wrapped up in their own conversation and walked deeper into the house.
Jack sat down heavily and sighed. He looked up at Phil with wary eyes. He seemed to fight internally for a moment before starting to talk.
“I got through the first infection without a mutation or any eye problems, I guess it's rare cause when I first came across Eret, a week or so after I’d first been sick, he said it was a sign of strength. That my body wouldn't let foreign agents take hold. I don't know man, I thought he was crazy.”
Phil remembers his first encounter with Eret. He had the voice of a siren and the mind of a man crazed. He could convince you that he could save the world, or destroy it.
“I didn't see him for two months, but when I saw him again he was different. He had his group following him everywhere and he had lost his eyes. He was angrier and kept talking about an Angel of Death that had stolen from him.”
“I guess I assumed it was food or supplies but now that I’m thinking about it he never actually specified. He said you were dangerous and that you were a thief but he never told me what happened. I don't know, I guess I just believed him. I realized how ridiculous it sounded as soon as I thought about it for a second.”
Jack looked up at Phil with softer eyes, "I'm sorry for propagating all that. I don't know anything about what happened.” He looked at his hands, almost embarrassed. Phil knew it was his turn to share, but he stayed silent for too long before starting.
“Eret and I only met once, but the guy has apparently been talking about me ever since. Dunno why, I helped him out with a horde he was in with his posse one time, I didn't even stay with them for the night. He asked me to join him, said a bunch of vaguely eugenic-ish stuff about my wings and his eyes, and threw a fit when I left.”
Jack looked disappointed, like the story wasn’t as interesting as he thought it would be. He shrugged and motioned to stand but stopped.
“There was one other thing.” he said cautiously “one of his group, Fundy I think, mentioned that Eret had a thing he was looking for and he was convinced that you had it.”
Phil sat up. This was new info.
“He never mentioned what it was, I don't think he actually knew anything other than Eret was obsessed with it. But the reason Eret wouldn't shut up about it was because it could apparently cure zombies.”
Phil was dumbfounded. Phil never took anything from Eret, and he never left anything behind. Phil wasn't even sure zombies could be cured, all the ones he had encountered had skulls that were practically hollowed out.
“I never even went into his base.” Phil struggled to respond with something that would absolve him of the ridiculous accusation. Jack didn't seem to believe it either, shaking his head and standing up.
“I believe you, I think it's bull. But I also know that Eret is still looking for you and he’s crazy enough to believe his own delusions. You should find a place to hide out, last I saw they were working on getting a bunch of cars fueled up.”
Jack started to walk out of the living room, but paused at the threshold.
“Bad has probably already offered you a room here and if he hasn’t it’s only a matter of time. You should take it.” Jack advised with a smile.
Phil returned it, “I’ll give it some thought.”
Phil sat alone in the living room until sundown. When Bad came in to show him a room, he followed.