Chapter 18: Infestation

The building is infested, that much is apparent. And I'm so turned around by the time I manage to get a hold of myself we're deep inside, not a window visible. I slow for a moment, at the top of a set of stairs, knowing going down is the worst thing I can do. But when I turn back to retreat they are coming for us, from the left and the right, a mass of groaning Shambles who stink of death.

Poppy screams, the dog barks and I'm filled with fresh panic while the puppies whine over and over again. I run down the stairs, praying there will be an exit, another staircase, something, anything. More long halls, more windowless rooms, more Shambles.

Finally, an empty corridor. I pant, unable to catch my breath, forced to set Poppy down for a moment while she sobs and strokes the puppies. She's having a hard time holding them. Food and love has done wonders for their strength.

"Here." I whip off my jacket, tie the arms together to make a sling, slide it around her neck. Shine and Shade fit inside, and she's able to button the front up to keep them from escaping. The dog stares up at me like he assumes I know what I'm doing.

I hope he's right. Because I really think I've killed us all.

Poppy grasps my hand as we move on. My heart has quieted some, my calm returning. There is something about these Shambles triggering absolute terror and I just hope I can keep control of my fear long enough to find an exit. The dog sniffs ahead, leading us on. I trust his judgment far more than mine.

I hear something behind us just as we turn a corner and see Beckett running toward us, calling for Poppy. She spins, sees him, her relief apparent. So is mine. He almost reaches us when I hear the dog bark once, sharply and turn too late.

A Shamble emerges from a dark doorway, heading right for me. I shove Poppy backward without thinking, toward Beckett, and charge toward the creature. It falls back, hands scrabbling at my chest and throat, hideous, stinking breath breathing into my face. A girl this time, though I have a hard time thinking of her as female. She stumbles, I lose my balance and we go down together.

I feel the floor give way beneath us, hear the cracking, splintering sound of old, decayed wood and barely catch a breath before we're in free fall. The Shamble dies beneath me as we land, gasping her final rattle into my mouth, thick, black blood spurting out of her nose. I pull free, lurching to me feet, wiping at the droplets on my cheeks, panic giving way to relief.

Until I hear them. All around me. Stirring, coming closer. In the dark, I'm surrounded.

I have to fight. The calm is impossible so I reach for rage. It helps some, fear and anger being not far from each other. But I feel slow, despite being faster than the Shambles, as if the leftover terror has weighted my limbs.

Their bodies are soft under my lashing feet, my striking hands, and I can only imagine they are slowly dying, decaying from the inside out. The stench is overwhelming and I'm finding it harder and harder to breathe.

I'm aware of peripheral sounds, of the dog barking above me, Poppy screaming my name, but I can't spare a moment for them. I can only fight and fight and fight while my soul shudders and a part of me shrieks in absolute madness.

The sounds above fall silent. Have they been attacked? Or have they left me? I have no way of knowing. Something hisses past my cheek, I feel it more than see it. I've adjusted as well as I can to the minimal light in the pit where I fight, just enough to see the outlines of Shamble bodies as they surge toward me.

Another hiss and a grunt from a mindless boy who goes down with a thud, taking two more with him. The soft sounds of projectiles, over and over again, all coming from above me. Again I can't spare a moment to see who's defending me, but the surge of hope and gratitude is enough to keep me fighting, harder, faster, more angry until I stand alone, a ring of fallen Shambles at my feet.

Now I can stop, thank my savior. Only to look up into the muzzle of a gun.

One last hiss. Something red and fuzzy sticks out of my shoulder. I grasp for it, feel my fingers go numb as the world slides sideways, multiplies into two, four and then blackness.

***

Motion. My body registers it before my brain fully understands I'm moving. My head bobs on my neck, uncomfortable, but I'm unable to do anything about it just yet. I hear myself groan and feel a shudder run the full length of me, fed by the memory of the Shambles.

I'm alive. They didn't eat me. I could sob my gratitude, but instead settle for the soft warmth of tears trickling slowly free, escaping to drip from the end of my nose.

The first thing I see when I open my eyes is a floor passing by, concrete, dirty, with a blue painted line, faded with age. Whoever holds me gives me a little toss. I must be heavy. The thought makes me want to giggle. I know my giddiness comes from the drug they've given me and shake it off as best I can.

Down a set of stairs. Another. All concrete. I'm able to see to my left. Long lines of blue chairs, plastic with fold down seats and neat little numbers attached to the backs run on and on forever. Thin metal handrails offer support at each staircase though my carrier ignores them. Orange seats take the place of blue, then yellow.

We're not alone, either. I see other pairs of feet following behind.

Where are we? And who has taken me captive?

One last set of stairs and we're crossing through a small but heavy wooden door and onto grass. Grass? The real kind, I think. Recently mowed, but how? My mind tries to fit all of the images together, but I'm out of time. There's no way to save myself, my body still unresponsive as I'm dumped on the ground and left to fend for myself.

Three people bend over me. I know them. I know them all. Met them in the school that first horrible night. They grin at me like it's funny I'm here, but with terrible intent behind their smiles.

"Is she awake?" A voice I don't know, coming closer. One of them looks up and nods.

"She's coming around." He backs off, they all do. Someone grabs me from behind, hauls me upright by my arms. My shoulders protest while my head wobbles. I'm able to support it a little, resting my cheek on my shoulder, as my eyes climb up the jeans-clad legs before me, noting the thick spiked black leather belt, the matching leather jacket. A t-shirt, actually clean. Amazing. And another smile, this on a face I don't know, with an equally evil undertone.

He's attractive. I'm surprised. Shouldn't bad people be ugly? Kidnappers shouldn't have hair as blonde as new honey or green eyes making you want to trust them. Chiseled features, a model's face. Perfect teeth. Not fair, I say.

"At last," he says, hands on hips. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

***