lights had turned back on, revealing rapidly hemorrhaging eyes. Her pupils were shrinking, but I
couldn't bring myself to pull Ian away. She was crying, he was crying. There was nothing I could do.
"Where are you going?!"
I wanted to reassure her. "Where did you go?!"
I wanted to help her. "Help me!"
But I couldn't. "I can't see!"
There was nothing I could do.
"Help me! Help! I don't want to! I don't want to!" There was nothing I could do.
"I don no.. no.. gah.."
I, much like Ian, started to cry. I hadn't known it was like this. I wasn't sure that anybody knew. We didn't know that these people would be aware of the changing. My brother.. maybe he had remembered me when he went on the attack. Maybe he knew who I was, distantly, but couldn't do anything to stop himself. The pain, the fear, maybe it overwhelmed the memories. Maybe it was something else.
I cried for him. I cried for her.
I cried for anyone who had to go through what I was witnessing. I cried for myself, and what I was about to do.
I raised the chain up, the moment the girl opened her mouth, eyes won over by the illness, body set on flesh. Sympathy for the child or not, there was no way I'd let her take Ian. No way. So I brought the chain down, as hard as I could, the moment I was sure there was no more human in there crushing the skull, and the gray matter within. I could tell. Blood sprayed on impact just a little, chunks of hair came up with the chain. I tried to convince myself that there was nothing else I could have done.
I stared at the sight before me, choking around a weird mixture of bile, and water. I guess it was water. I didn't know. But it was making breath illusive. The window beside Ian was the broken one. But something about it bothered me. Bothered me down to my gut. There, I noticed with a look, were no visible cuts on the girl. How could she have shattered the glass without getting hurt?
The answer, I thought, was that she hadn't. Something else had broken the window, and she just wound up inside. Somehow. Maybe she'd been inside already. But I doubted that. Doubted that Dustin would have allowed her to be there all alone. Unless he didn't know she was there, of course.
But I could dwell on that later.
Something had broken the window, and we didn't know what or where it was. Damn.
Damn.
"Ian, we need to go. We need to get back to the others." I tried to speak above a whisper, but my voice cracked. I was scared. I felt so terrible. So sick. I wanted, so desperately, to help that girl. That poor girl. She hadn't had the chance yet to live her life. I wished that I could have helped her. But I couldn't. I couldn't. And I couldn't accept it. I found myself incapable of getting over the fact that I was useless.
At least Ian tried to comfort her. I hadn't even been able to do that. I had to kill her, right there in the crying boys arms. A grown man turned into a sobbing mess, as easily as I
raised my arm. It made me feel like a monster. Made me question my mortality just one more time during the dark, dark night. I was beginning to hate my life.
Hate myself.
Part of me wanted to be taken down by the man-eaters. Mutilated. Hurt. Killed. I wanted to die. I wanted to be dead. But at the same time, if that were to happen, I wanted to stay dead. And whatever virus was going around would prevent that. Maybe, just maybe, if I shot myself in the head, it would be better. Maybe then everything would be okay.
And maybe little blue aliens would build a civilization in my nasal cavity.
This, I screamed in my own mind, wasn't like the movies. There was no beautiful heroine, no hero for her to love. We were all the damsels in distress, however lacking our knights in shining armor. There wasn't much chance of survival. Not with the lights going out at random. At least in Resident Evil , they knew what caused the zombies. They knew that there was a cure. As far as I knew, our zombies were
couldn't bring myself to pull Ian away. She was crying, he was crying. There was nothing I could do.
"Where are you going?!"
I wanted to reassure her. "Where did you go?!"
I wanted to help her. "Help me!"
But I couldn't. "I can't see!"
There was nothing I could do.
"Help me! Help! I don't want to! I don't want to!" There was nothing I could do.
"I don no.. no.. gah.."
I, much like Ian, started to cry. I hadn't known it was like this. I wasn't sure that anybody knew. We didn't know that these people would be aware of the changing. My brother.. maybe he had remembered me when he went on the attack. Maybe he knew who I was, distantly, but couldn't do anything to stop himself. The pain, the fear, maybe it overwhelmed the memories. Maybe it was something else.
I cried for him. I cried for her.
I cried for anyone who had to go through what I was witnessing. I cried for myself, and what I was about to do.
I raised the chain up, the moment the girl opened her mouth, eyes won over by the illness, body set on flesh. Sympathy for the child or not, there was no way I'd let her take Ian. No way. So I brought the chain down, as hard as I could, the moment I was sure there was no more human in there crushing the skull, and the gray matter within. I could tell. Blood sprayed on impact just a little, chunks of hair came up with the chain. I tried to convince myself that there was nothing else I could have done.
I stared at the sight before me, choking around a weird mixture of bile, and water. I guess it was water. I didn't know. But it was making breath illusive. The window beside Ian was the broken one. But something about it bothered me. Bothered me down to my gut. There, I noticed with a look, were no visible cuts on the girl. How could she have shattered the glass without getting hurt?
The answer, I thought, was that she hadn't. Something else had broken the window, and she just wound up inside. Somehow. Maybe she'd been inside already. But I doubted that. Doubted that Dustin would have allowed her to be there all alone. Unless he didn't know she was there, of course.
But I could dwell on that later.
Something had broken the window, and we didn't know what or where it was. Damn.
Damn.
"Ian, we need to go. We need to get back to the others." I tried to speak above a whisper, but my voice cracked. I was scared. I felt so terrible. So sick. I wanted, so desperately, to help that girl. That poor girl. She hadn't had the chance yet to live her life. I wished that I could have helped her. But I couldn't. I couldn't. And I couldn't accept it. I found myself incapable of getting over the fact that I was useless.
At least Ian tried to comfort her. I hadn't even been able to do that. I had to kill her, right there in the crying boys arms. A grown man turned into a sobbing mess, as easily as I
raised my arm. It made me feel like a monster. Made me question my mortality just one more time during the dark, dark night. I was beginning to hate my life.
Hate myself.
Part of me wanted to be taken down by the man-eaters. Mutilated. Hurt. Killed. I wanted to die. I wanted to be dead. But at the same time, if that were to happen, I wanted to stay dead. And whatever virus was going around would prevent that. Maybe, just maybe, if I shot myself in the head, it would be better. Maybe then everything would be okay.
And maybe little blue aliens would build a civilization in my nasal cavity.
This, I screamed in my own mind, wasn't like the movies. There was no beautiful heroine, no hero for her to love. We were all the damsels in distress, however lacking our knights in shining armor. There wasn't much chance of survival. Not with the lights going out at random. At least in Resident Evil , they knew what caused the zombies. They knew that there was a cure. As far as I knew, our zombies were
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