Title: Stronger Than Fear
Author: jordannamorgan
Fandom: Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress
Characters:, Takumi and Ikoma.
Setting: During the fall of Aragane Station in the first episode.
Rating: Mild PG for zombies.
Length: 1,858 words.
Summary: If Ikoma couldn’t pick locks, things might have happened very differently.
Notes: Also to be submitted for “Zombie” at spook_me, and “Best Friends” at genprompt_bingo.



Takumi had never been so terrified in his life.

Of course he had always known in the abstract that Aragane Station might one day fall to the Kabane. Working on trains that arrived at the depot, steamsmiths were usually the first to hear horror stories from crews who had seen the burning, infested ruins of the latest station to be swallowed up. Takumi had nightmares after each new account of such a disaster; and frighteningly, it seemed to be happening more often these days. However, when Lord Yomogawa maintained such strict policies of inspection and defense, it had always been hard to believe the Kabane curse could truly strike here.

Yet tonight Takumi found himself running down a familiar street turned waking nightmare, lined with unchecked fires and scattered with corpses he could only hope would stay dead, as his shaking hands clutched nothing more than a broom for protection. Tonight the once-distant fear was suddenly a reality, and all he wanted was to escape from the deathtrap his lifelong home had become.

Which made it pure madness that he was running in the opposite direction from the train that stood waiting to carry survivors to safety.

…Because stupid Ikoma. Takumi’s best friend just had to pick today of all days to go mouthing off to the bushi and exposing his illegal collection of Kabane remains to study. He had to have gotten himself locked up in a quarantine cell on the night when all hell broke loose, and in the chaos no one would even think about freeing the reclusive, moody steamsmith who was rumored to be crazy anyway.

No one, that is, except Takumi. From the day Ikoma came to Aragane as an orphan refugee, Takumi had adopted him as a personal challenge, a broken thing to be fixed—and he wasn’t going to fail at the effort because Ikoma went and died on him.

Truthfully, he would never have thought this determination could be stronger than his fear… but somehow it was. Somehow it kept him running forward in the firelit darkness, pressing on through the choking smell of smoke and the frantic pounding of his own heart, in search of the brilliant young man who dreamed of fighting the Kabane.

At least the cells stood relatively close to the depot, as a matter of simple practicality. Until tonight’s fiery crash of an infested train, the only sources of taint people had really feared were arriving outsiders who may have been bitten, or steamsmiths potentially exposed to Kabane blood while making repairs. If anyone was suspected, best to confine them as quickly as possible, rather than humiliate them and risk a public alarm by parading them across town at rifle point.

Nearing the stone terrace upon which the cells stood, Takumi saw movement behind the stout wooden bars: a flash of pale-yellow steamsmith’s jacket, the brown leather of a fingerless glove on the hand that urgently rattled the door. When he called out Ikoma’s name, a head turned, and the light glinting off a green eyeglass lens confirmed the figure’s identity beyond all doubt. Momentarily relieved just to see Ikoma alive, Takumi bounded up the steps.

Even in the hazy illumination of scattered fires and one still-glowing streetlamp, Ikoma’s eyes were visibly wide with shock. “Takumi! What are you doing here?”

“Whadaya think?” Without slowing the momentum of his running approach, Takumi threw the full weight of his husky frame against the cell door. The effort had no effect. Although the wood was scarred by whatever assaults Ikoma had already made on it, the bars were thick and strong, refusing to yield.

“You shouldn’t be here!” Ikoma protested, staring out at Takumi with a horrified dismay that the bigger steamsmith knew was for his sake. “Forget about me. Get to the train and save yourself!”

“Like I’m just gonna turn around and leave without you now. D’you have any idea what I came through to get here?” Takumi countered, fingers fumbling with the tool bag at his side. “If I run into any Kabane on the way back to the depot, I’m gonna need a human shield—so you’re coming with me. Now stand back!”

From the bag Takumi produced a grimly familiar cone of stitched canvas. With the inherent risk in cleaning Kabane blood and tissue from trains, the depot kept a supply of suicide charges; all steamsmiths were required to know where they were stored. Apart from his meager broom, a few of these were the only weapon he had come up with in the rush to equip himself for a rescue mission.

Alarm crossed Ikoma’s face for only a moment, but then he quickly seemed to realize what Takumi had in mind. He shrank back into a corner of the cell. Takumi set aside the broom, gritted his teeth, and placed the business end of the charge against the lock.

Internally sending up a swift prayer, he closed his eyes and pulled the cord.

The short pop of the explosive was surprisingly muted… but the recoil, not quite so much. Although it was perhaps due more to surprise than the actual force, Takumi was pitched back onto his rump, the singed and tattered husk of the charge flying out of his hand. Ears ringing, he gave his head a brisk shake, and looked up to see a splintered hole where the lock of the cell door had once been.

Ikoma wasted no time. He roughly shouldered the door open and emerged from the cell. Leaning down over Takumi, he stretched out a hand to help him to his feet.

“Thanks,” Takumi panted, accepting the aid, and then quickly reaching for his broom. “Come on, we’ve gotta get to the Kotetsujo!”

“You go.” Ikoma’s hand fell on Takumi’s shoulder, gripping tightly. “I’ll follow as soon as I can, but first… I have to get to my piercing gun.”

Takumi gaped. “Are you kidding me? There’s no time for that! If we don’t reach the train before they load everyone, they’ll leave us trapped here. We’ll die!”

“That’s why you need to get back there—but this is something I have to do.”

Without waiting for further argument, Ikoma pushed away from his rescuer and bolted for the steps leading down from the terrace. After a second of hesitation, Takumi followed with an exasperated growl. He saw Ikoma hit the street ten paces ahead of him, turning in the direction of his own house and personal workshop—which stood even farther from the depot.

Everybody was right all along. The guy really is that crazy… and he’s gonna get me killed right along with him.

On the top step, Takumi briefly paused once more, torn between chasing Ikoma and abandoning him to his madness. If he let that suicidal lunatic go, he was certain he could still turn back and save himself; but he was just as sure that for all the days or years of survival that gained him, he would be haunted by Ikoma’s face.

Resolved anew, Takumi clutched the broom tightly and charged down the steps… and from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed too late the flickering glow crouched in the shadow of the terrace.

A monstrous weight collided with him, toppling him into the street as the broom fell from his hands. Darkness laced with fire loomed over him, pinning him down. Foul breath snarled in his ear, rough hands clawed at his shoulders and neck, and all he could do was feebly raise his hands in some attempt to shield himself.

He never heard Ikoma’s footsteps running back. All he knew was that there was a burst of blue sparks practically in his face, and the attacking Kabane suddenly crumpled over him.

The lifeless body was rolled off of him, and then Ikoma was kneeling at his side, clutching a bloodied axe. Takumi didn’t know where the weapon came from, or how a figure as slight as Ikoma could have found the strength to smash it through a Kabane’s protective heart cage. It must have been sheer adrenaline and luck.

“Takumi! Are you hurt?”

Barely aware of his own violent trembling, Takumi pulled himself to a sitting position with Ikoma’s help. His heart and head were pounding, muffling the sounds in his ears, confusing the messages of his nerves. He thought there was pain somewhere about his person, but he wasn’t sure exactly where. Must have hit his head when he landed on the street, and the Kabane’s hands at his throat may have scratched him, but surely he wasn’t…?

Ikoma’s shuddering gasp was his first warning that it was worse than he realized. Slim fingers clutched his wrist, lifting his right hand—and he saw the bleeding semicircle of punctures made by teeth, the skin around it already turning a ghastly purple-red.

Takumi’s stomach lurched, his vision turning gray; yet somehow he swallowed his bile and reached for the tool bag with his uninjured hand, withdrawing a second suicide charge. A lifetime of training for the worst-case scenario made it a purely reflexive reaction. He was scared to die, but like everyone else in this ravaged world, he was even more terrified of not dying completely.

“No.”

The charge was slapped out of his grasp. Briefly stunned, he could only stare as Ikoma tore fabric and wrapped a tourniquet just above his wrist.

“Ikoma—”

“I can save you!” Desperately Ikoma seized Takumi’s arm, attempting to pull him to his feet. “Remember our research. If we can stop it from reaching your brain, you’ll be okay! We just have to get you to my house. The infection isn’t spreading too fast—we have time!”

Closing his eyes, Takumi reached up to squeeze his friend’s wrist. “It’s no use, Ikoma… Just leave me and get to the train.”

“Not without you!”

The sudden low rasp of fierceness in Ikoma’s tone caused Takumi to look up. He was well used to seeing determination in the smaller steamsmith’s eyes, but the cold light they reflected now was something else altogether.

“I’m never leaving anyone behind again, Takumi. No one else is going to die alone because of me. So either we both make it out of here… or neither of us do.”

There was no arguing with a lunatic, after all.

With a choked half-laugh of despair, Takumi surrendered. “Okay… you crazy idiot. We’ll try it. But you have to promise me that if it doesn’t work…”

His gaze dropped to the fallen suicide charge. Ikoma picked it up, solemnly tucking it away beneath his jacket, and bent down to help Takumi rise.

In the end, maybe it was alright. If anyone could save Takumi from the horror coursing through his veins, he was sure it would be Ikoma. But if this was the end for both of them instead… well, at least he would be there to see Ikoma’s reunion with his sister in the next world.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned on the support of his best friend’s shoulder, and together they hurried to seek the last measure of hope that lay waiting at Ikoma’s house.

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2019 Jordanna Morgan