Sep 8, 2014


In that undead frame of mind,

Part I - Won't Win

He sat on his haunches, caught off guard by that impossible sound, tensing in the silence for confirmation.   There was no way, no way anyone would stumble into that place, it was too deserted out here.

Then he was running, a too human scream ringing in his ears as he sprinted from his position in the scrub to the back fence where it folded in on itself, the rusted iron sheets blending like sand dunes against the dying landscape.  Breath hitching he knew he didn't have enough ammo to be able to fend off the infestation inside, cursing his sudden conscience.  

Glancing over his shoulder he couldn't spot any Crawlers, meaning they were already dining in.  Wiping the sweat from his brow and griping the crossbow tightly he made another dash, hitting a concrete wall at full speed he pushed his toes into the whitewash, reaching for the lip of the rooftop and heaving himself up.  Slowly approaching the skylight he did a quick take before dropping into the old refrigerator room.  Edging his way to the steel doors he pulled a key from the shelf and unchained the door, making sure his movements had not been detected yet.  Slipping through the kitchen he stared down the corridor at a feeding frenzy, the demons devouring their own.   Except they didn't tend towards cannibalism, their hunger didn't work like that.  Frowning he saw the shattered skull between the writhing bodies as they clawed at it, desperate for something it had possessed.  Pressing himself against the corridor wall he stopped, heavy breathing echoed behind him.  Spinning around he just about wasted a shaft on an air vent.

"I miss you Petey"

Had insanity finally hit him?  Before he knew it he was kicking in the vent and pulling himself through, choking on putrid air as it flowed from wherever he was headed.  Stumbling on blood slicked tiles he hurriedly tied a cloth around his face, years of desolation and this bathroom had developed its own rotting atmosphere.   This was the one room he had never bothered to search during his expeditions, the door had always been boarded, and there was enough of a reason for it.  Ducking into the shadow of a cubicle he stared at the rats swarming just a few feet away, a fresh trail of blood leading into the cubicle closest to the door, and the Crawlers.  

Chewing on his lip he listened out for any sound of breathing, debating whether to try calling out, was there even anyone here or was he risking his life for a corpse!   If he made any move they would be on him like leeches.   Checking his belt he grabbed a fistful of shafts, swung out and fired.  Muscle memory took over before sense could as he shot with each step, keeping a steady movement forward without taking his eyes off each head that fell until his hand was emptied.   Kicking open the barely hinged door he struggled to avoid the terror that was holed up inside.  

Lifting a girl into his arms he leapt over the build up of rancid bodies at the door and tore through the glassless entry of the decrepit diner.  He didn't stop until he was sure the only thing wrapping around his legs were the lifeless grasses that littered the area.  Collapsing in the twilight he laid the girl down and pulled off the kerchief, taking in a breath of fresh air.  It was time to wipe that place from his address book as the images stained his thoughts, and his shirt.  The girl had practically been swimming in blood.

A thought shot through his heart like a knife.  Inspecting her limbs he pulled her trouser leg up, clenching his jaw as bile burned the back of his throat.  

It was all a waste.  

He stared at her pale face, she would most likely die of blood loss before fever actually hit.  Wilfully contemplating his last shaft he held up the bow, ready to end this misery now and move on.

kind mercy or bitter reality?
from sjp.
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