They seemed too preoccupied with their idle chatter that my footsteps went unnoticed. I spared a glimpse at Doug, who was ready to fire at a moment's should something go wrong. I gulped, turning back to my soon to be victim and took a final step.
My knife was only halfway into the air when my right foot slipped from beneath me and made a long, bloody streak mark on the floor, as well a loud squeak with it. I caught myself mid-fall, managing to land on my knee instead of face planting, but it was already too late.
The man I was aiming for turned with lighting speed as well as his comrade. He paused, seeing nothing behind him until he looked down, where I in a moment of panic, shoved the knife into his calf. He hollered in pain, his grip on his gun visibly loosened and I made a desperate lunge to pry it from his hands. I was only an inch away when I found another barrel pointed to my forehead.
The second officer kicked me back as my other boot gave way, myself yelping as my back hit the floor. Stalling him for a split second, I kicked at his legs. His aim faltered. The trigger was pulled and a train of bullets was unleashed, landing in the wood beside my head. Another, more singular gunshot echoed through the room and I watched as my attacker's head flung back as he fell. He tSirened once and didn't move.
I followed the shot back to Doug, who was just as surprised as I was to see Olive holding up her gun. She had a terrified look on her face, mixing with something else I couldn't place, as if she herself couldn't believe what she had just done.
The relief that flooded me was short lived, replaced by a sharp pain that shot across my skin. I lurched back in surprise, biting back a cry as the pain deepened and made it almost impossible to detect where the injury was. I kneeled on the floor, clutching the wound as I stared up at my opponent, the first man with Theron's knife in his grasp, having ripped it out of his own bleeding thigh.
I shoved him away in a moment of fight or flight induced strength. With his leg injury preventing him from holding his ground, he fell easily, Groaning, he picked himself back up, determined. He began to make his way towards me but fell once again as a bullet entered his right arm. The knife clattered to the ground and I didn't hesitate to retrieve it. Olive shot once more and the man fell to the ground, a hole in his neck.
After the sound of the gunshot faded away, I was left staring as two more human bodies to add to the pile. Groaning in pain, I lifted up my hand to see how I was faring. The slash was a few inches long, mildly deep and began in the middle of my neck, traveling down until it reached the base of it. It would take time to heal, and probably wouldn't leave a scar. That is, if it was treated and I could prevent it from getting infected. Regardless, it still hurt like hell.
I stood up straight, stuffing the knife in my pocket as I did so, turning to see Doug and Olive, expecting them to either head for the door or come to see how I was doing. I narrowed my eyes. Now not only Olive had her weapon hoisted, but Doug as well, both aiming in my direction. My eyes darted between the two, not understanding. "What's wrong?" I asked.
Olive seemed to stutter in fear a little before managing to answer. "Sara, behi-" I didn't hear the rest of her warning since my attention was directed to the sudden pain I felt on my scalp. My ponytailed was pulled harshly and I let out a cry of pain. My hands flew up to the hand holding my hair, struggling to release myself from my assailants grasp. There was a small click as something metal pressed against the back of my neck. I froze.
"C'est bon de vous revoir, hein, Sara, était-il?"
I immediately recognized the smooth French accent, images of the radio tower incident coming to mind. "Philippe…" I sputtered. "You…fuck…" Though I know cursing at him wasn't going to help my situation, it wouldn't stop me from giving him a piece of my mind. Although, I need to remember to limit myself, seeing as he has the upper hand.
Olive lowered her gun instantly; her husband however, stepped ahead and made his intentions prominent. "Who the hell are you?" He shouted angrily, before his gaze fell upon me and he softened. "You know him?" He asked, full of disbelief. I would have answered, probably something snarky as well, but the combined pain of my bleeding neck and the hair being ripped from my scalp rendered my voice useless.
"Jurant en présence d'une dame ..." Philippe tisked, "Ungentlemanly" The criticism was muffled behind his mask, not like any of us would have been able to understand him clearly. Doug's anger was joined by confusion, his grip never faltering. He opened his mouth, as if to say or demand something, but with no knowledge of what was just said, saying something wrong might be my end.
They weren't going to risk it, but that doesn't mean I can't take my own chances. "What the hell do you want?" I coughed out, giving up on releasing my ponytail and returning my hands to my bloody collarbone. I felt movement behind me, a silent pause, as if he was thinking on his answer. The air between the four of us was thick, all of us carefully choosing our next move.
Once again, I'm too impatient. If I was to die by him, I might as well confront it. "You bastard." I insulted, hating the feeling of blooding further staining my shirt. "You tricked me. If you wanted us dead, why didn't you kill us at the radio tower?" I asked, biting back a shriek when he suddenly pulled harder. I hesitated, before speaking again. "…Well?" My voice was soft, almost inaudible. "Answer me-"
I cut myself off with a painful gasp. With the gun still pressed to my temple, the gloved hand holding my hair let go, and instead snatched my wrist from behind. Doug and Olive both tensed at the action, holding their ground to see what he would do. Philippe observed my hand, zeroing in on the biohazard mark. I attempted to feebly yank it away, but the click of a gun made me think twice.
"Vous aviez raison…" He spoke softly, as if to himself. He let go of my hand, before wrapping him arm around me, keeping my arms immobile as his gun sSirened targets. From me, to Doug. In response, Doug bared his teeth, ushering for Olive to stand behind him. The woman stayed in place, however, even so much as raising her own weapon. "Bub…." He trailed off, eyes flickering from me to Philippe. "Start explainin'…"
"You and ze woman may leave." Philippe interrupted, his tone holding a sense of authority. "She however…" He pointed the gun back to me. "Must stay."
I closed my eyes and took in the split second of pure silence. Whatever happens to me doesn't matter, right now, the only thing that did was that they have a chance to escape. Even if it meant leaving me behind.
As I expected, Doug was quick to object. "Fuck to the no, we're not leavin' without her." He shouted, his voice echoing throughout the room. As If to back up his objection, Olive stepped up beside her husband, silent but determined. I didn't know whether to be grateful that they cared this much, or flat out call them idiots for not taking the chance to get away.
"Oh?" Philippe mused, obviously amused by the sight of heroism. "Alright, if you wish so desperately to leave with her…" His arm tightened, constricting my air and causing me to cough profusely, pressing the barrel against my head even harder. "Then you'll have to drag her."
I clenched my eyes shut again and waited. Nothing happened. When I opened them, Doug and Olive shared equally fearful looks on their features, their weapon's held in the air. "Please…" Olive began. I gulped staring at her as she pleaded. My attention shifted to Doug, whom wasn't any different. The recent stress thrusted upon them combined with their age was beginning to show. I took a deep breath. They didn't have to go through anymore.
"Just leave."
My voice was calm and collected, which really didn't belong in a situation like this. As expected, the couple's eye's widened at my request. Philippe's restraint loosened, almost as if he didn't expect it either. "Leave and go North of town." I continued. Something wet and salty fell into my mouth and I realized that I was crying. "Keep going along the fence until you find a gate. Passed the woods is the highway, I left the truck there."
"Bub, have you lost yer damn mind?" The old man asked. I would have shrugged if not for the pain in my neck. "Fuck, I don'
t know." I murmured, catching my breath. "Probably." Who cares anyway? I wouldn't have lasted much longer, not with how much blood I've been losing these past few minutes. Did I mention that it still hurts like a bitch?
I sighed, ignoring how it became more of a forced wheeze than exhaled of breath. If only Aaron was here.
Doug made a step forward, halting when Philippe returned the gun to his direction. "You heard the lady. Now be on your way, before I decide I'm being too generous." He flicked his head towards the doors. The couple hesitated, eyeing me and him. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I nodded slightly. I know I'm a hostage right now, but couldn't I have been any clearer? It not like I want them to leave, but it's for the best.
Doug carefully guided Olive through the room, stepping over broken corpses as they went along until they reached the door. Their eyes never left us. "Sara…" Doug muttered his face apologetic. I gulped. I can't remember the last time where he actually called me by my real name. I avoided their eyes. "Don't come back, ok?" I asked softly.
He looked away. "No promises." I closed my eyes, refusing to see Olive's face tear up as she walked out. I didn't open them again until I heard the solid thud of the door shutting and Philippe release he hold on me. I step away and turned to face him. The gun was pointed at me still, but I was losing my ability to care. "You're a fucking asshole, you know that?"
The slight movement in his mask hinted that he was smiling. With his free hand, he held something up. I groaned when I saw the metal. "Stop doing that." The French man twirled the knife around his fingers and I felt a sudden emptiness in my pockets. "That's mine." I commented.
"Not anymore, but since I'm feeling nice today…" He tossed it in my direction. Flinching, I raised my hands to cover my face and miracle caught it by the handle. I made sure the weapon was safe in my grip before glaring at him. "Don't expect a Thank you." I coughed, noticing how dull my left shoulder had become. Was this feeling normal? Or was it something I needed to worry about?
He tilted his head off towards the right, across a room where a different hallway then the one I came out of was. "Go on now, can't keep some of us waiting, now can we?" Swallowing the metallic taste in my mouth, I headed in the direction he was pointing, careful to step over any body that covered the floor. I felt my chest hammer a bit as we passed the Siren, too busy with her sobbing to care about her surroundings.
It wasn't until I almost tripped over a severed arm did I pause and actually observe the corpses. Most of them had been torn open, exposed and even had entrails flowing freely for the world to see. It was a gruesome sight to look at, not exactly the best smell either. But it was how they were ripped open that got my attention.
Only a few had puncture wounds, usually in the stomach, neck or back with the correct width and thickness that would match the description of the Siren's claws. The bodies with holes, no doubt they were hers. But what about the one's with severed limbs and hollowed out ribcages?
Something touched my boot and I looked down, my heart skipping a beat when I watched the head I just kicked roll over to the side. Vomit rushed back up my throat and I choked it down with a heave. Taking a deep breath, I continued on. I wondered how in the hell has Philippe not found any of this disturbing.
"So…" I trailed off. "Where are you taking me?" I asked bluntly. No answer, just the sound of footsteps. I sighed and looked down, watching as every step I took left a bloody print behind. A minute passed and we came into a new area. The walls were white with a solid steel door, similar to one back at the fake police station on each side of the hallway.
I exhaled, noticing how fresher the air got. The AC here was used more often. I stole a glimpse at the gun, getting a good look of the inner barrel before turning back around. This is the fourth…no, fifth time I found myself at the wrong end of a gun this week. I hated this feeling. This feeling of helplessness, vulnerability.
Options ran through my head, but nothing good enough came to mind. A passing thought suddenly came to mind. "Why did you want me to stay?" I asked, mentally preparing myself for any answer. There was pause, then I heard him muffle. "Somebody has to feed ze cattle."
I raised a brow. So I'm being held hostage to go to work? I'm a slave now, apparently. "Cattle?" I repeated, keeping my distance. "You mean like, horses? Cows? Things like that?" I questioned. It wasn't uncommon for survivors to keep farm animals to help supply them with food and other. I remember hearing about safe zones in the South East of the country, no electricity but still had it better than most safe zones.
"No"
His response was simple, leaving me with more questions than answers. If he wasn't talking about animals, the only other 'cattle' that was housed here were infected. I swallowed nervously, remembering the two children in the store window. I guess anything that lives or ever lived could be considered livestock in Paradise.
Looking up from my thoughts, I noticed how dim the lights had gotten. The white walls turned gray under the lack of light. A light bulb flicked down the hallway. A shiver traveled up my spine. "I don't get it." I wondered out loud, throwing safety to the wind. "Philippe, why did yo-" My sentence morphed into a yelp in pain. I threw a hand to the back of my head. "The hell was that for?"
"My name is not Philippe." He muttered an underlying anger in his tone. Furrowing my brows, I glimpse back in confusion. "How come? You told me tha-" He suddenly lashed out. "I told you nothing. I am not zat man." I shook my head. I recognize that voice, that accent. There was no need to see his face to stick him to a name. A name he apparently didn't like.
"Yeah, sure. You're not as nice as the Philippe I met before." I said. Although I was edging dangerously on the chance of being shot, the part of my brain that handled self-preservation just wasn't in service today. I rolled my eyes in response to the silence. "If you're not Philippe, then who are you?"
He went quiet for a moment. "I was once called Kilo." He stopped in his tracks, and ordered me to do so as well. While keeping him aim, he fumbled around his uniform until he pulled out a set of keys, similar to what the warden had before.
Walking to the door on our left, he unlocked it, swinging it open. I leaned over and peered inside. It was pitch black, and the dim light from the hallway provided no help, since the light flooding into the room only gave about a foot's worth of visibility. Confused, I narrowed my eyes. The room was empty, I assume.
Forgetting momentarily about the dark room, I thought back to the second name. "Kilo?" He didn't acknowledge me, not even a nod, but simply pointed the gun to the entrance of the darkness. I shook my head, disobeying. I'm risking my neck, I know. But what do I have to lose?
"Enough with all the names" I confronted. "Who are you, really?" Crossing my arms, I stood my ground. His body language began to change, tensing. The grip on his weapon tightened I imagined his knuckles were white beneath his gloves. "I am Kilo, now go in."
His tone was bone chilling. I suddenly felt very aware of the knife still in my possession but felt no power to use it. He still had me at gunpoint, powerless to defend myself. Glancing to dark room, and back to him, I summoned up what little courage I had left. "No, not until you tell me who you are."
The gun was brought down before I could register what was going on. Instinctively, I dodged. He missed my head, but I felt his hit fall on my shoulder, somewhere below my current injury. Crying out in pain, I held the newly opened wound with my free hand, hating the feeling of blood trailing down my fingers. I would have fallen to the floor if it wasn't for him grabbing the front of my stained shirt.
He held me up to his face. "I am Kilo. Philippe is nobody. Are we understood?" He bellowed his screeching ringing in my ear. While feebly trying to pry his hands away, I stared into the cold unfeeling mask, a trickle of blood flowing down my chin. A good ten seconds passed on our one way stare down, leaving me to process current events.
Sometime during those seconds, it clicked. "You have a multiple personality disorder…"
&n
bsp; I was harshly tossed away into the room. The pain spiked when my back hit the floor. I groaned loudly, a searing fire centering on my side. Whimpering, I watched as the light began to slowly fade. Kilo muttered something in French before fully shutting the door, leaving me alone in the dark.
The ground was cold metal, and I could hear the small ping each time a drop of blood fell to the floor. I heaved, exhaling and inhaling. Reminding myself to breath, and normally while I'm at it. Breathing too hard could cause blood to flow faster, harder and there was always the chance I could bleed completely out. But it wouldn't matter anyway, since I've been left to starve and rot in this hell hole.
The pain was intense, overlapping the rest of my senses. It however, failed to muffle the feral growl coming from the corner of the room.
It actually took a moment for me to comprehend that the noise I just heard definitely wasn't human. Nothing of human origin could produce a sound so horrifying, a deep rumbling that further increased my state of panic. It was easy to place the location of the noise, in the corner. Who or what it belonged to, another mystery.
I sat up in shock, biting back a yelp as I did so. Slowly, I stood to my feet. Even as I made sure to rise at a steady pace, I felt the lightheadedness rush to my skull. I huffed, the ache leaving as quickly as it had come. Another animalistic noise emitted from the walls and my chest skipped in fear. Death by gunshot would have been better than being ripped apart, or better yet, eaten.
Fumbling on my feet, I used one side of the wall for support, gliding along it until I found the door. I tried the handle. Locked, alone, starving, and bleeding to death, the perfect dinner for whoever or whatever was in the room with me. No visibility meant having no clue who my killer is.
Walking Bodies Page 23
