Chapter Text
"Wynonna? Wynonna, there's something wrong," Willa Earp calls. She pushes the thin door to the Homestead open, stumbling over the wooden threshold. It’s blissfully cool inside the house. The sweat coating her forehead becomes freezing, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.
Her stumble sends her into the wall, her shoulder smacking into the wood with a dull thud. Willa stands there with her eyes squeezed shut as she tries to catch her breath. Her entire body feels like it's on fire. Every muscle aches, down deep into her bones. Despite the chill in the air, the cold sweat trickling down her forehead, she feels unbearably hot.
She hears the telltale sound of Wynonna's heavy boots thudding down the stairs. "Will? What'd you say?" The voice floats down the stairs and Willa forces her eyes open. Her vision is blurry and clouded and the film over her eyes doesn't go away no matter how insistently she blinks.
Wynonna rounds the corner, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of her sister. All Wynonna can think about is the time when they were little, when Willa got pneumonia so bad that everyone thought she was going to cough herself to death.
Daddy had still refused to take her to the hospital, Wynonna remembers. He insisted that she would be fine, she would tough it out and come out stronger for it. Their mama had finally snuck her out one day, getting her the antibiotics that saved her life. That's the day that Willa decided that she loves hospitals.
She’s so pale. Her eyes are ringed with dark circles that are so severe that it looks like she was slammed into a wall face first. The grey material of her scrub top is drenched, clinging to her chest. She looked just fine when she left this morning, Wynonna thinks, her mind flashing back to Willa’s bright smile as she walked out of the door with a bagel in her hand.
“Wynonna,” she whispers, her voice cracking and hoarse. She doesn’t think that she’s ever been this thirsty in her entire life. Her knees buckle, the weight of her body becoming too much to handle. Wynonna startles forward, placing one strong hand on Willa’s shoulder to steady her.
“You’re bleeding,” Wynonna says as she pulls her hand away, hot, dark blood slicked onto her palm. There’s another stain on her shirt, crimson blood spreading slowly into the fabric of her shoulder. The shirt is messily torn open, giving Wynonna a glance at the deep wound on her sister’s shoulder.
"Something wrong at the hospital," Willa says, leaning heavily into her sister. Her breath is labored and shuddering. "Guy came in, traveling down from Calgary... Some freak bit him at the gas station a few miles out and he started running a 39 degree fever by the time he hit Purgatory." By the end of her sentence, Willa is wheezing with the lack of oxygen reaching her lungs.
"He flatlined... but then he went wild. Woke up, snarling, scratching. I tried to tie him down and he bit me." Wynonna slowly lowers her sister to the ground before taking a hesitant step back.
“Like, he reanimated? And then took a chunk out of your arm?” Wynonna asks, a hand subconsciously creeping towards the revolver that is ever present on her hip. Willa nods, her eyes falling shut again. She can’t stand the film over her vision, the aching throb deep in her muscles.
“Why did you come home?” Wynonna whispers, her mind racing with the possibilities of what this means. If that guy was bitten, then he bit Willa... could the same thing happen to her? Couldn't the hospital do anything?
“They.. they made me leave.” Willa’s skin is slowly turning from bone pale to an unnaturally ashen grey. Her eyes flit around the room, unfocused and bloodshot. “You need... you need to go find Waverly.”
That horrifying reality dawns on Wynonna. That man came down from Calgary. Waverly had been living in Calgary for something like fifteen years, and she's spent the last five settling into her position as a lead researcher for the University.
Out of the three girls, Waverly had always been the bookish one. Willa wasn't bad at school. She was good enough to pass nursing school, of course. She went through the motions, doing what she needed to do and nothing more. Wynonna was never big on school. She was far too impatient, lost in her own thoughts. She's intelligent as hell, though. On her own, she was perfectly able to learn whatever she set her mind on. It was just having to learn at other people's paces that fucked her up.
Waverly, though, thrived in school. She walked the line between popular and nerdy, blending in with every clique flawlessly. She was as involved as humanly possible. She was gone all day, getting up with the sun and falling into bed well past dark.
Wynonna and Willa were sure to go to every event of hers that they could make it to. Willa was taking the nursing course at the local community college, which was just about the only thing they still offered. In a town full of rednecks and dumb teenagers, there was always a need for nurses. Wynonna was still hanging around home, drifting between bartending at Shorty's and harassing Sheriff Nedley to let her solve mysteries.
Nedley always retorted with a "Goddamnit Wynonna, I can't just let you 'solve mysteries.' You gotta go to the academy." Eventually, she became so tired of that answer that she just started telling people in Shorty's that if they had crimes that needed solving she could do it.
And, somehow... that worked. People really did start coming to Wynonna, talking to her about their cheating husbands and asshole neighbors. Wynonna was a little disappointed that it wasn't, like, real crime solving, but she still got paid to threaten dickheads with her gun.
Ward was... never very present. The two older girls could remember smiles and laughter from Ward when they were little, but those were few and far between after Mama left and he lost his job. There were just a few too many incidents where Nedley caught him drunk on the job. Waverly was still tiny, having just turned four. She was still too little to understand what was really going on.
So, Willa and Wynonna had to fill in. Their aunt and uncle helped out, of course, ferrying the girls to everything they could possibly dream of. On the rare occasion that Ward was cognizant, he wasn't too bad. He was distant and withdrawn but he tried his best to be involved in the girl's lives.
He tried his best, there was little denying that. Mostly with Waverly, who was everyone's angel. Willa spent a few jealous years refusing to say a single civil word to Waverly. She hated how much attention she got when she and Wynonna had spent years being ignored.
She realized, after a stern talking to- and a punch in the nose- from Wynonna, that she was acting like a spoiled child. So, she pushed Ward to sober the fuck up and take care of his child.
He dressed up to escort Waverly to dances and took pictures with her. Ward always bought her shimmery, flowing dresses. She looked ethereal in them, everyone agreed. He went to the Purg High games to watch his daughter dancing on the sidelines, her hair flying as her small frame was tossed into the air. He cheered her on when she received her acceptance letter to the University, and again for every one of her degrees, and again when she was offered a research position.
"You need to find her," Willa says, the rasp startling Wynonna out of her thoughts. "Find Aunt Gus and Daddy. Please, Wynonna, you need to keep them safe. From... whatever is happening."
"I can't leave you!" Wynonna says. Her voice is urgent, bordering on shrill. "We can find some medicine or some shit, right? Maybe they already have something figured out, like... like maybe it was just a freak thing, yeah?"
Willa snorts, a phlegmy and unpleasant sound. “You need to go. Now. Before whatever happened to that poor asshole happens to me.” Wynonna shakes her head. She’s the perfect picture of a human tornado as she whirls into the kitchen, switching their small radio on.
There’s a crackle before the insistent tone of an emergency broadcast sounds out. The sound drills into her brain, three low drones before a man's voice sounds out. "Those in Calgary and all surrounding counties, please be advised. This is not a drill. We are facing an outbreak of an unknown, deadly disease. Stay indoors until you are notified with further evacuation orders. If you must leave, do not interact with any individual that you see, especially if their behavior is erratic and unusual.”
His voice continues to drone on, the three emergency tones sounding again before the message repeats. She flips through the stations, finding nothing but the same message over and over again. Well, fuck.
Wynonna turns back to the doorway, starting towards her sister. She stops in her tracks, her eyebrows knitting together. Willa is back on her feet, her back facing her sister. Her arms hang limply at her side, her posture slumped and so unlike her.
Their mother, before she left, had made sure that her children were well-behaved and polite. She refused to tolerate the roughhousing that Ward encouraged. He always said that they were Earps, that Wyatt would want these girls to grow up with the backbone and strength to do whatever the hell they put their minds to.
"They can be polite and do whatever the hell they want at the same time, Ward," Michelle would always say, her tone sharp and pointed. He would sulk as Michelle taught them to set the table, fold laundry just so. One of her most insistent rules was that their posture always had to be perfect.
"No one respects a woman who slouches," she said like a broken record. She would press on their stomachs, making them straighten their backs until she was satisfied. Wynonna hated it, slinking around with her shoulders slumped towards the ground just to piss Michelle off. Willa, though, took it to heart. She never slouched, never let anyone see her with anything other than perfect posture.
"Hey, Will... We gotta go now," Wynonna says, hesitating for just a moment before stepping forward. Willa makes an odd noise, a gurgling exhalation. She turns around, and Wynonna's heart drops. She steps back, her heel hitting the edge of the counter. She stumbles, smacking her hand onto the counter to steady herself.
Willa's mouth is open, jaw slack. Her hazel eyes, usually so bright and full of life, are cloudy and distant. She takes a stumbling step towards her sister. Another disturbing moan leaves her mouth.
"Willa, hey. Listen... Listen to me. We're gonna take you to the hospital and get help. And then we're going after Waverly." Something seems to snap in her sister then, some sort of sick recognition of a vital goal.
Willa stumbles forward on unsteady feet. Her hands reach out as if they're claws, scratching wildly at the air. Her face contorts into a snarl. Willa's teeth, perfect save for the chip on her lower left canine, glint in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains.
"Willa!" Wynonna continues to back up, holding her left hand up as her right hand flies to the handle of her revolver. She unsnaps the holster strap as her boots knock against the far wall. Fuck. There's nowhere else for me to go.
Willa is inches away, her hands scrabbling for purchase on Wynonna's leather jacket. Wynonna shoves her away, causing another pissed off growl from her sister. Wynonna draws her revolver, pointing it at her sister with a shaking hand.
"Willa, what the fuck? Chill... chill the fuck out!" Wynonna's mind is racing, trying to figure out if she could restrain her sister or knock her out or something. She needs to go to the fucking hospital. Those bastards never should have made her leave.
Willa doesn't respond. She just pushes on, relentlessly grabbing at the air in front of her. She approaches again, unfazed by the cold metal of the revolver pressing into her chest. Her hands grasp at the loose strands of Wynonna's hair, trying to yank her head closer.
On impulse, Wynonna pulls the trigger. The gun bucks, an almost electric jolt running up Wynonna's arm. There's a sickening squelch as a hole is ripped through Willa's chest, directly over her sternum. The shot is deafening in the close quarters and Wynonna's ears ring, turning everything into a tinny imitation of regular noise.
Willa doesn't react. Her fingers tangle in Wynonna's dark locks and she pulls, dragging Wynonna's cheek closer to her gnashing teeth.
Wynonna pulls the trigger again. And again. And again until the trigger clicks, empty. And even though Willa has a hole the size of a fucking softball in the middle of her chest, she just keeps yanking and snarling.
She drops the revolver, the clatter of metal on the floor breaking through the ringing in her ears. Willa's snarl intensifies at the noise. It seems to aggravate her, make her angry.
Hair pulling has always been Willa's go to tactic when they get into scuffles. Wynonna has never had her hair short, always offering the perfect target for a painful yank. Wynonna grabs her sister, one hand on the middle of her forearm and the other right above her wrist.
Wynonna forces Willa's wrist down, eliciting a sickening snap as the bones in her wrist crack. Her hand falls limp and Wynonna is easily able to tear it away from her hair. She can feel spit dotting her face, the snarls and gnashing teeth sending foul saliva flying.
With the treat of one grasping hand gone, Wynonna gropes behind her back towards where she knows the butcher block is. Her shoulder twists uncomfortably, straining to find something. She uses her other hand to keep her sister- maybe?- away.
Finally, Wynonna's hand connects with the solid wood of one of their knives. She shoves Willa back as she pulls up on the knife, the scrape of metal against wood making her shudder.
The shove was just another momentary setback for Willa. She returns in full force, still with the same furiously hungry expression plastered on her face. Wynonna slashes with the knife, slicing a nasty cut into her sister's face. Blood, so dark that it's almost black, spills from the wound and down her cheek.
Still, though, whatever used to be her sister doesn't seem to care. "Please, Willa!" Wynonna says, her voice shrill and full of terror. She lashes out again, with tears stinging her eyes. She catches Willa's lip, splitting that as well.
Blood drips onto Wynonna's hand, staining her skin with the atrocity of what she's doing. As Willa's teeth snap closer and closer to her cheek, Wynonna raises the knife high over her head. She drives the blade deep into her older sister's eye socket.
Willa slumps, her snapping jaw slowing and finally falling still as the fight leaves her body. Wynonna pushes her to the floor as her tears break loose, spilling down her face in hot streaks.
The knife clatters to the floor, clanking against the previously dropped revolver. Wynonna's hands quake uncontrollably as she falls to her knees in front of her sister's body.
Willa is collapsed in a pile, a pool of blood collecting under her lifeless body. Gulping sobs escape Wynonna and her throat restricts as she tries to bring in air. Her hands frantically search her sister's body, pushing her over onto her back.
Her skin seems loose, like it's already rotting off of her skull. Wynonna isn't the medical professional in the family, but she knows enough about death to be aware that this is fucked up. It's almost as if her decay is being sped up, skipping right past all the rigor mortis shit and going straight to the rotting.
Willa's eyes are still open, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Wynonna can't see any sign of her sister. It's like some sort of thing is wearing her skin. Some sort of monster that tried to chew her up. Some sort of monster that didn't react at all to four rounds being shot directly into its chest.
Wynonna leans over her sister's body, sobbing until her throat is raw and she doesn't have any tears left to shed. By then, the ringing in her ears has stopped and the continued drone of the emergency broadcasts breaks through.
The message has changed, though. "All residents of the province of Alberta, be advised. All active military bases are open as refugee bases. You will not be admitted if you are showing any signs of infection. Your temperature will be checked and you will be placed into quarantine upon arrival." The message repeats, drilling itself into Wynonna's mind.
Wynonna stands on shaking legs. She leans against the counter for support as she catches her breath and wipes the tears away from her face. Her skin feels raw.
Wynonna snatches her gun off of the floor, sliding it back into her holster. She throws Willa one last look before stepping over her body. One of her boots gets caught in the pool of blood and she tracks bloody footprints through the house. Fuck it. There's nothing here for her anymore. Just a rotting monster in her kitchen.
She slams the door open, causing a loud bang as it hits against the wall. Rage bubbles up in her chest. The hospital sent her sister home instead of taking care of her and now she's fucking dead. Wynonna had to murder her own sister because of their goddamn negligence.
She won't let the same thing happen to her baby sister as well.
Wynonna gets into her truck, slamming the door as hard as she can. This small act of aggression makes her feel the tiniest bit better. The engine comes to life with a roar and Wynonna pulls out onto the gravel driveway, kicking up dust and dirt as her tires spin.
She speeds the few miles to town, pressing the pedal down as far as it can go. The old truck clunks and something deep within it begins to rattle. Wynonna ignores it, staring ahead stonily.
As she pulls into town, she doesn't see anyone. The streets are eerily silent, even for a town as small as Purgatory. The truck sputters to a stop in the middle of the street. Wynonna swivels her head around, listening closely for any sign of other life. None.
Wynonna reaches over into her passenger seat, where she keeps a box of loose bullets. She reloads her revolver before shaking the rest into her hand and shoving them into her jacket pocket. She takes a long look at the flask still sitting on the seat and shakes her head.
She grabs the cold metal and unscrews the cap, bringing it to her lips. Wynonna drains the contents of the flask. The familiar burn of whisky sliding down her throat comforts her for just a moment.
Wynonna opens her glove compartment, grabbing her daddy's old hunting knife. She sighs, running her fingers absently over the chip in the metal near the handle. She slides it into her boot.
With the flask empty and the knife in her boot, she leaves her truck. Her boots hit solid ground and she sways for just a moment before steadying herself. "Jesus," she mutters. "Get it together, Earp." She shakes her head, trying to clear the cloud of emotion that's making her so unsteady.
She's parked in front of the general store, which looks deserted. The lights are still on, the one in the far corner by the dairy section flickering like it has since she was little. Wynonna approaches slowly, pushing the glass door open. She can hear that fucking emergency broadcast playing from the radio on the counter. Makes sense, then. They left for one of the bases.
The store had obviously been hit before everyone had ran. As Wynonna walked through the store, she noted just how little was left. Absolutely no booze, unsurprisingly. Even the toilet paper was completely cleared out.
Absolutely nobody left in the store. Not a note, not even a dumb teenager left to man the counter for the last few stragglers coming to buy their essentials. Wynonna hops over the counter, her boots landing with an echo in the near-silent building.
She's watched Mrs. Green pull her own revolver on enough stupid shoplifters and drunk assholes to know that she must have some extra ammo back there. She crouches, pushing aside the boxes of plastic bags and the disturbing amount of plastic bottles full of tobacco spit.
Wynonna smiles when her hand hits a box of bullets. It jangles, indicating to Wynonna that there's still something in it. She shakes the bullets out- there are only five, but it's better than nothing- and shoves them in her pocket with the rest. The revolver itself isn't there, though. Good. Hopefully Mrs. Green can protect herself.
Wynonna stands, looking up at the cigarette holder hanging down from the ceiling. She's never been a smoker, not since her daddy caught her smoking when she was fifteen and made her chain the entire pack. It was disgusting enough to turn her off of the damn things for the rest of her life.
But... if the world is going to be as fucked as it seems, tobacco will probably be worth its weight in gold. People will do damn near anything to feed their vices. There are only a few packs left. Probably the shitty stuff that no one even wanted.
Wynonna shrugs and opens the plastic door covering the rows. She takes the packs and rips the plastic off in order to empty the contents onto the counter. Wynonna nods approvingly, gathering them up into a thick bundle. She slides them into her other pocket, giving it a satisfied pat.
Wynonna steps out of the building, shooting a glance up towards the sky. She can get to Calgary with plenty of light left. After looking around, finding nothing, Wynonna pulls her phone out of her pants pocket. She doesn't have any service, no notifications. Shit.
She pats the hood of her truck as she passes, throwing it an "I'll be back, baby." Wynonna figures it won't hurt to at least stop by Shorty's, see if he's still there. If there's any other person who would do anything to save Waverly, it would be that man.
The Earp girls were practically raised in that bar. Their father would drop them in a booth while he sat at the bar and drank until he couldn't see anymore. Shorty always made sure they were taken care of. He gave them free food, free sodas, made sure that they weren't being bothered by any drunk patrons.
Shorty was kind enough to give all three girls jobs when they needed some extra cash. Willa worked there when she was making her way through nursing school, Waverly when she needed money to buy books for the endless online courses she took, and Wynonna... well, Wynonna never really left the bar. She always came back, one way or another.
Shorty's is just a few short blocks away from the general store. The walk is silent, save for the coo of pigeons crowded around a nearby trashcan. Usually there are at least a few other people on the streets, cars on the road at the very least.
But it feels like all the life has left Purgatory. Everything is so still. Almost as if the entire town, except for Wynonna, has been frozen in time. Wynonna shakes her head, coming to a standstill in front of Shorty's.
She studies the faded façade of the building, taking a deep breath. "Old man, I hope to hell you're still in there. And... still you." Wynonna pushes the doors open, the creak of the wood under her feet creating an inexplicable anxiety within her.
The bar still has tinny country music playing over the speakers. Shorty, without fail, plays his decades-old CDs every single day. Waverly had tried to get him to upgrade to something a little more sophisticated, maybe Spotify? He had always gone right back to the CDs, saying that they had never failed him before.
Shorty's, unlike every other place that Wynonna had peeked into, was not peacefully abandoned. It was exactly what she hadn't hoped for, though. There's blood on the counter, dripping down onto the floor. The soft plink of blood drops joining the pool on the hardwood cuts through the music.
No bodies, though. Blood, fucking everywhere. Another streak of blood on the taps, one of them still pulled partially down and leaking beer. Wynonna drags a fingertip across the blood on the counter, pulling a disgusted face at the fluid.
"What did I expect?" Wynonna sighs, wiping the blood off on her jeans. "Couldn't even bother to clean up after yourself? Damn customers. Okay... let's see where you got to."
Wynonna glances around the dim interior of the bar. No one milling about... It looks like there was some sort of fight, though. There are tables and chairs knocked to the ground and it looks like one of the pool cues is broken.
"Well... Hope that was a shitty one," Wynonna says under her breath. She makes her way to the back room, her steps slow and cautious. She presses her back against the wall, tilting her ear towards the door.
She hears some movement in the room. A soft clatter of metal against metal, almost like someone banged some pots together. "Shorty?" Wynonna calls, her eyes widening.
Silence. Then, a deep snarl and stumbling footsteps approaching the door. Wynonna jumps back from the wall, her revolver in her hand instantly. A tall man with half of his face chewed off crashes through the door. Chunks of skin and muscle hang off of his cheek, swinging as he charges.
Wynonna lifts her gun, scrambling backwards to avoid the man and his clouded, milky eyes. She fires one shot- hits him in the shoulder. His growl intensifies, but is cut short by Wynonna's next shot.
The top of the man's head explodes in a fine mist of blood and brain matter. He drops to the floor, his outstretched fingertips just centimeters away from Wynonna's boots.
"Aw, fuck," Wynonna sighs, kicking at the remnants of his skull. "Sorry, Shorty. Don't think this place will ever be clean again."
It dawns on her then. This man isn't Shorty- thank god. Wynonna doesn't think that she would be able to... kill another person that she loves. But if this isn't him, is he still around here?
Wynonna steps over the dead man, giving him an awkward half-wave as she does. "Sorry, man." She approaches the back room again, peeking inside. There’s another figure laying on the floor, but they don’t appear to be moving.
Wynonna steps inside, her revolver at the ready. She won't be caught off guard this time. There's another figure laying in the middle of the floor, with a giant, gory hole ripped into their stomach.
This poor asshole must have been what the other monster was busy with. Wynonna fights the urge to gag. Great. Just what she wanted on her day off: an uprising of cannibalistic freaks.
This figure isn't moving, though. As Wynonna approaches, she notices the gun held loosely in his hand and the hole through the top of his head. Wynonna doesn't think she can really blame him.
Still not Shorty, though. This guy is tall and lanky, with greasy hair that covers half of his face. "Stupid Carl," Wynonna says with a sigh. Sure, the guy was a weirdo who hit on all of the Earp girls relentlessly, but he still didn't deserve to get munched on.
"Hope you got out of here in one piece, Shorty." Wynonna kicks at Carl's feet, shaking her head. She's about to turn around when she hears the click of a gun's hammer behind her.
"Hands up. Drop the gun. Turn around slowly." A forceful voice, but quiet and feminine. Wynonna squeezes her eyes shut, whispering a curse under her breath.
"Okay, okay. Putting the gun down." Wynonna bends forward, setting her revolver on the ground next to Carl's gnawed on leg. She turns around with her hands raised above her head, following the woman's orders.
She's tall, with long red hair plaited in a tight French braid. Her eyes are brown, glinting like pools of amber in the overhead lighting. She's wearing a stiff, navy blue uniform shirt and pants of the same color, with a turquoise stripe running down the leg. There's a radio pinned to one of her shoulders and a nameplate above her breast pocket, but she can't read it with the light glinting off of it.
"Cop," Wynonna says, rolling her eyes. "Of course."
"Sheriff's deputy," the woman responds, her gun unwavering as it points directly at Wynonna's head. "Have you been bitten? Or scratched?"
"Do I look like I'm about to chew your fuckin' face off, cop?" Wynonna lets her hands fall, causing the deputy's eyebrows to raise. "Oh, shove it. I'm not gonna attack you or whatever."
The cop lowers her service pistol slowly, but she keeps a skeptical glare on Wynonna. Her eyes flick back and forth, taking in the woman in front of her. Wynonna pulls a face at the stupid cop-born behavior.
"What are you doing in here?" The cop asks, gesturing vaguely towards Carl's body.
"I was looking for my friend. Shorty. Not here. What are you doing in here? I don't think I've ever seen you around. I would remember."
The woman stares at her for a moment, her eyebrows drawn together in obvious confusion. She sighs, shaking off the comment. "I was sent down from Calgary to evacuate the town. I was... separated from the rest of my team. Heard the shots."
"Well, copper... I'm Wynonna Earp." She snatches her gun back off of the floor, spinning it around her finger before holstering it.
"Deputy Nicole Haught. Nice to meet you, Wynonna."