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The unnatural red sunlight pours into the windows of the dusty shop, air stale as old bread. Or maybe not, because Logan hasn’t tasted any kinds of bread in about 3 years now, it’s a miracle that he and Oscar are still surviving on expired canned foods and dirty water.
Logan’s really, really glad that they managed to find an old, worn down mall with its big food storage still intact. Yes, there were cobwebs and debris everywhere, but compared to the other buildings they have been to ever since this apocalypse started, the cleanliness is drastically better here. He guesses that the aliens ⸺ Oppressors, haven’t been able to enter the building much.
The blonde sits up from his makeshift bed⸺ old fabric propped against some sacks of sand ⸺ as he realises Oscar wasn’t in the room. It was common for Oscar to disappear after Logan’s afternoon naps ⸺ he was either on the rooftop, pondering about who knows what, or he would be near the building, finding things to bring back to freshen up their temporary establishment.
Logan always worries when it’s the latter, though. Oscar had come face to face with those flying Oppressors once, and that didn't end well; a permanent burn mark running down his left eye, to the top of his mouth, remains as a reminder to the both of them to always stay alert.
He does hear some shuffling from the ceiling though, so the blonde need not worry today. He climbs up the creaky wooden ladder, as sunlight hits him on the face and he sees the silhouette of his best friend sitting near the edge, on a battered picnic mat he had found.
He knows Oscar knows he's there, even though the brunette doesn't exactly react to it. Logan sits down next to the younger, knees hugged up to his chest.
“You barely sit with me here,” Oscar whispers, words drifting away into the warm wind, the reddish sunlight making him look prettier than ever before, “What brings you to?”
Logan shrugs. “I don’t know either. Just felt like spending time with you.” He doesn’t look at him, but shuffles slightly closer to the other boy, who breaks into a small smile.
Oscar’s eyes look dreamy, as if he was thinking about something. “Do you miss the old days, before ⸺ well, all of this.”
He does, actually. He would die to go back to the old days, where instead of the fear of being hunted and killed, the adrenaline rush of racing on tar roads filled his body instead. If anyone else had survived to be in their position, they might have regretted it as much as he did.
“Yeah, when you were chasing for the championship, and I was at the back scrabbling to get points every race.” Logan remarks, jest underlying his tone of speech. Oscar laughs, a bright happy sound, but he can hear the sadness and longing below it, to which he understands very well.
“Admit it, you were shit.” Oscar teases, and Logan shoves him by the shoulder, more hoarse laughter echoing in the air. Logan finds himself smiling warmly, his cheeks slightly warmer than usual. He tells himself it's from the sunset. “Anyways, it wasn’t like you didn’t get better.”
It was true. From Logan’s third season to his fifth, he’d gotten much better racing wise, from barely missing points in some races to scoring at least P10 every race. He had started to fit into the drivers as “the next successful American F1 driver”, when only a year before he was threatened by the fear of being seatless.
“I miss everyone,” he hums in reply, “I miss Fred, Zhou, Alex, Yuki, Liam… I missed the feeling of getting in the car, and the heat of the car. The crackling of the radio.” Oscar nods in his peripheral view, his hand touching Logan’s as a sense of comfort. Logan can feel his eyes becoming slightly moist, his nose ringing a sickening sour.
When the apocalypse started, it had been them, Fred, Liam, and Guanyu who were the first to escape from the Oppressors’ radar. The apocalypse invaded England an hour after they ended the race in Silverstone, and he had heard Max and Charles were the first drivers that had vanished, their overalls and suits left behind, reddened. Logan doesn’t like thinking about that.
In fact, Logan doesn’t like thinking about his friends now that they aren’t here anymore. He only had him and Oscar now, and he still remembers the bitter, disgusting taste of the day they had woken up to find that Fred, Liam and Guanyu meeting the same fates as their other friends did.
“Just.. just remember that they’re someplace better now. There’s nothing hunting them,” Oscar mumbles, “Maybe they’re even waiting for us.”
“I would love to see them again.” Logan hums, his breathing dull and shallow. He’s fully prepared to meet them in the afterlife, but no ⸺ he cannot leave Oscar behind. Not even when he knows Oscar could probably fend for himself.
The brunette nods, both in understanding and agreement. “Maybe we could just live for a bit ⸺ then we can go meet them. We agreed that we would fulfill what we wished for before we leave, remember?”
He wasn’t wrong about that. They’ve sworn an oath with blood and dust, wrote the promises into their hearts. Logan still remembers Guanyu’s heart-shaped grin, Fred’s firm fingers warm on his shoulder, the way Liam’s hair still remained unnaturally platinum even with all this dust and soot, and the way Oscar had hugged him. The only comfort he had in this despairing time.
“What happens if we wake up one day to find this entire thing fake, and it’s just some weird ass dream the government sent to us?” Liam jokes. This one particular night they were gathered around a fire, roasting a pack of almost-expired marshmallows that they had managed to scavenge from the remains of the building’s food stash.
The night was eerie. They’ve been counting, and it's been a year since the apocalypse started. 17 May 2027. They’ve managed to survive together, and met some wanderers along the way. None known of the condition of their fellow fast-paced colleagues from the track.
“Then I’d be pissed at best, storm the parliament building at worst. I don’t care if I’m not British, I’m an F1 driver and I’m allowed to.” Oscar rolls his eyes, sarcasm lacing his tone. Everyone agrees, none of them asked to live in this nightmare anyway.
They sit in silence, appreciating each other’s presence. Guanyu was huddled up to Fred, Liam in a starfish position. Logan and Oscar sat together, their knees touching. That was, until Fred spoke up.
“What if we die tomorrow?”
They know that out of all of them, Fred was the youngest and most afraid to die. None of them wanted to die anyway. They still had hope, simmering and burning in their chests. If anything, they could see the dawn of the new Earth. If not, they could just finish the promise they started. But Fred was right; what if they died tomorrow?
“Fate will guide us; if we have to go then it is not up to our choice unless you die by suicide.” Guanyu notes. Somehow after all this they started to believe fate was a real thing.
Staying in silence for a while, with nothing but the echo of whirring in the distance that Logan dismissed and the crackling sounds of fire, they settle for sleep.
That was perhaps the last words the three of them have said to Logan and Oscar.
“Yeah,” Logan purses his cracked lips. He misses the way Guanyu smiles, his eyes crinkling. He misses the playfulness of Fred, the way all of them laugh when he pronounces “shrimp”. He misses Liam’s voice, the clarity he has when he speaks.
But they all promised something together, what more could his friends ask for other than fulfilling the oath?
Logan wakes up, hearing a whir in the air. Oscar is still asleep on the sack next to him, sweat beading his eyebrow.
“Oscar,” He shakes the other awake. Oscar blinks open, stuttering gibberish. “We’re in danger, Oscar.” Logan grabs his backpack as soon as the brunette sits up, running towards the storage to grab non-expired food cans. He shivers, the whirring getting louder very, very slowly.
Flashes of bloodied, battered clothes that were once their friends’ appear before his eyes. He ties the death of his friends to this sickening whirring sound, which always rings in his ears and in his nightmares, his gut twisting every single time he thinks of it. And now, it's back to haunt him. Logan’s heard this sound countless times these past three years, have walked past many ripped clothing strewn all over soil, grass, concrete floors.
Oscar starts tying torn fabric that was stacked in a pile at the side of the room, working on weaving a long line of tied fabric. Logan nods in understanding, tying the end of the fabric onto an old, worn down desk at the side of the only window in the room, securing it. They were going to climb down and run out of here as soon as they could, he thinks.
“You’ll go first. I’ll stay watch.” Logan nods, and throws the fabric rope down the floor they were on, before slinging on his backpack and sliding down. The whirring was getting closer as he reached the ground. This is not great.
“Osc!” He waves both his hands. The other boy jumps onto the fabric rope, and Logan holds the bottom of it, impatiently tapping his foot. He’s nervous, very nervous. Logan shuts his eyes.
Oscar grabs Logan’s hand firmly the moment he reaches the ground. His hands are the same as before, slightly more calloused, still strong and firm. Logan feels slightly more confident. “To which way?”
The forest was the only way away from here, but there would be more risks, and Logan doesn’t want to risk their lives. If anything one of them could stay here while the other scouts ⸺ but with the presence of an Oppressor here he doesn’t feel safe, even worse leaving Oscar alone heightened the chance that two people would become one, and that isn’t very ideal either.
“Go into the basement via the trapdoor ⸺ we’ll wait for the Oppressor to go by, since there’s pretty much nowhere else that we can go ⸺" Oscar drags him towards the trapdoor at the center almost immediately, attempting to pull the trapdoor up. Logan tries to help too.
“Shit.” The trapdoor doesn’t budge. He hears the whirring come closer. They’re screwed. “It needs a key!!” Oscar swears, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Logan spots a glint of metal in his peripheral view, and he immediately grabs Oscar up, shielding the younger.
The Oppressor slowly approaches them, and he feels himself get pulled. Oscar makes a dash to and up the broken escalators, and they run as fast as their aching feet could take them. Logan can hear the alien speed up, and he picks up his pace, ignoring the way his lungs burn. A laser beam shoots out to where they are, and thank the gods Logan was an F1 driver with sharp reflexes as he wrapped his arms around Oscar and dove to the side of the corridor, both of them rolling until they hit the glass railing.
Logan’s spine ached, and he could swear a rusty nail was pierced into his arm, given that his white team jacket was stained with red, and that his bicep throbbed so much it became numb. That was the least of his worries, though, as the constant whirring of the cubic figure approaches them. He grabs a large chunk of debris and stands up, his legs trembling as he poises.
"Clank!" The debris does nothing to the metal of the Oppressor when thrown. A small dent, yes, but not enough to give it serious damage. He swears under his breath.
“Move, you idiot!” Oscar grabs his torso and dives to the side, the both of them stumbling. Logan coughs up dust and blood, and the two of them get up, Oscar picking up a bent metal bar as he stands, defending Logan.
“Oscar, don’t.” Logan whispers shakily. He weakly grabs the other boy’s arm, pleading him to not face the Oppressor just to save a half-dead Logan. Instead, the Australian pushes his hand away.
“You’re not going to die first, Logan. I don’t care if you’ve lost all hope or not, but life hasn’t treated you right at all, you need this just one last chance to live.” Oscar’s voice cracks as he speaks without turning back, gripping the metal and throwing it at the approaching Oppressor as he pleaded Logan to back away.
The Oppressor evolves, a reddish vacuum portal replacing the metallic structure they were familiar with. Oscar looks back at Logan with longing and guilt, but he was smiling. Below his expression, Logan could tell he was begging him to go.
He couldn’t just let him die. Maybe Oscar could live without him, but Logan cannot. The American stands up, trembling and shivering, and he pushes Oscar to the side the moment he sees a bright, blinding flash engulf his vision.
Pain envelops his body, but it embraces him like his mother’s comforting hug at the same time, reminding him of how much he’d missed his own family. Logan can feel his skin slowly feeling numb, his eyes feeling hot. His hands burn too, so warm he thinks about holding Oscar’s cold hand to cool down, but he knows he can’t anymore. His body throbs till there's nothing left of him. Run away from the world, my love. Run on.
Logan smiles. Thank you, Fate.
“Oscar, don’t.” Oscar hears Logan barely exclaim.
Oscar knows the boy is already half dying, but he doesn’t want him to die this way, meeting the very same end as their friends had. If anything, he should die as the last human they believe to be on Earth. He pushes Logan’s calloused, warm hand away from his forearm, and it suddenly feels colder.
Only one of them can survive. Oscar knows that his sacrifice is of worth, exchanging his death with the security of knowing that Logan can now freely fulfill the oath.
After all, Logan is the boy they've always trusted to live on, the boy he’d always loved.
“You’re not going to die first, Logan. I don’t care if you’ve lost all hope or not, but life hasn’t treated you right at all, you need this just one last chance to live.” Oscar’s voice cracks. A part of him still doesn’t want to die, and he’s scared. The Australian hoists the metal bar, groaning as he flings it at the Oppressor, the rusted object bouncing off its shiny surface with a loud bang.
“Logan, go!!! Now!!”
The Oppressor gurgles strangely, red light gushing out of it as it forms a crimson nebula. More like a black hole, Oscar thinks, but he shakes that thought off. Not the time for nerdy corrections. Oscar looks at Logan one last time. I’m sorry, this is for the best. Go to the end with my spirit, my lover.
It was incredibly warm, Oscar practically felt sweat pooling on his collarbones. He closes his eyes, waiting to embrace his death, as a white light flashes.
He hits the floor, skidding across the rough concrete. Opening his eyes, he finds Logan in his place, arms outstretched, knees wobbling. He bleeds, a sorrowful sight, as he starts dissolving into thin air.
“No, no no no no!!” Oscar cries, reaching out. Pieces of clothing fall to the floor ⸺ a Williams F1 Team jacket, a white shirt and skinny jeans, all reddened and torn. Oscar remembers hugging these on a specific someone's body just a few days before.
The Oppressor leaves after its “meal”, somehow ignoring Oscar in a destroyed state, clutching onto pieces of Logan’s clothing. It’s as if Logan had told it with his dying breath, don’t hurt my best friend.
The boy sobs. He claws on the ground till he feels blood form below his cracked nails, leaving red prints as he hugs the navy fabric, letting blood soak onto his papaya teamkit. The blood on the ground was mixed with salty tears that fell from his eyes like quartz beads dropping off a broken necklace, like a drizzle on a misty day.
What happened to going to the end together? What happened to pinky swearing that the both of them would grow old, retire from racing together?
Oscar lets himself curl up on the bloodstained, concrete when he grows tired, processing the grief and anger and sadness and whatever emotions that throbbed through his body. He thinks of every teardrop he has shared with Logan, every conversation they have had when Logan had anxiety. He thinks of every time he’s looked at Logan and wondered what his lips taste like, he thinks of those eyes that he took years to find out the colour of, he thinks of Logan’s firm, calm hands. He thinks of Logan’s serene smile that he wishes he could see for one last time.
I should have been wiped from existence by that filth, yet your eternal absence is the one that destroys me, slowly and coldly. Logan Hunter Sargeant, it was you who should have been here, you would have taken my death better.
That night, Oscar falls asleep crying on the floor, too mentally and physically weak to move, clutching Logan’s jacket tightly, savouring all that is left of the blonde, American boy that was once his best friend, his lover.
For what fault
Must we be so together?