With a newfound confidence, you take a deep breath and walk towards the door.
Hesitating for merely a moment, you wrap your fingers around the old latch, slowly unhooking it. You hold the door in place, silently talking yourself into going out there.
Slowly, you pull the door open, half expecting the bitch to lunge at you; half expecting her to merely stumble into the room. You peek around the edge of it, only to come face to face with one of the most horrifying creatures you’ve ever seen. Her – its? She seems a bit more like an ‘it’ now – face is peeling, covered in claw-like marks. It seems as if she had gotten into a fight. Maybe the woman who screamed earlier was one of this… monster’s victims. Or… maybe the scream belonged to the figure in front of you.
You aren’t entirely sure.
You step back quickly, sucking in a hard breath. The figure twitches toward you, getting closer and closer with each passing second. With each step she takes, you take a farther one – but it isn’t long until your back hits the wall. There isn’t much room in this office, after all.
You curse yourself loudly in your mind, wondering why the hell you hadn’t thought this through more.
Once she gets close enough, you reel your fist back and hit her cheek as hard as you can. She lets out an inhuman shriek, as she stumbles backwards.
Taking the only chance you might get, you make a run for the door, only to trip on a loose cable. You let out an ‘oomph!’ as your body hits the floor, and the screaming in your mind gets louder. You crawl forward, attempting to get as far away from this woman as you can. Before you get very far, you feel her boney fingers wrapping around your ankle.
You jerk your leg hard, kicking her even harder in the face, but she’s barely fazed. Her grip tightens, as she tugs at your leg. Your panic rises; adrenaline begins coursing through your veins.
With as much strength as you can muster, you hit her square in the face with the sole of your sneaker. This time, her grip on your ankle loosens if only for a second – but that’s more than long enough for you to slip away.
You scramble to your feet and slip through the doorway, jogging as fast as you can to your car. You snatch the keys from your pocket and struggle with finding the right one. Finally, you’re able to jerk open the door of your car and hop inside. Once you’re in, you waste no time with starting the ignition and peeling out of the motel parking lot.
But just as you begin to head toward the city, Jack’s words from earlier begin ringing in your ears. There were three tenants that checked in this morning… you only saw one. But there was blood on that woman’s jaw and blouse, right? The other tenants had to be dead… there was no way they could still be alive. They would’ve come out and helped you. Or… at least said something.
As quietly as you can, you step back through the office door and lock it behind you.
Even though you couldn’t tell what the figure is, you could tell it wasn’t a smart situation to be in. You know it’s your job to watch after the motel and its tenants, but not at the cost of your own safety. The scream you heard earlier definitely wasn’t very reassuring, either.
You aren’t heartless, though.
Swiftly, you walk over to the old office phone, dialing the 3 numbers for room 16. It rings 5, 6, 7 times, before you finally decide to hang it back up. Once the phone is back on its hook, you hear a low, unnatural moan coming from outside of the office.
“The fuck is that?” You think aloud, though part of you already knows it’s the figure from earlier. You tense and stop breathing, attempting to better hear the noise. You jump as something suddenly hits the office door.
Biting the inside of your cheek, you grip the phone in your pocket. For a moment, you contemplate calling the police. Then again, if things are really as bad in the city as the website said, they’re probably being swamped with calls. Not only that, but it would take them at least an hour to get here. By that time, the figure – no matter how weak its hits are – would certainly be able to break through the door.
You step towards the only window in the office, peering through the curtains. You were right… the figure – a woman, you now realize – is what’s banging on the door. She doesn’t notice you staring at her, and part of you wonders if she would even realize you sneaking out of the window. Quickly, you check for any possible latches.
Unfortunately, it seems as if the window had been long ago screwed shut.
Cursing quietly under your breath, you stare intently at the woman. Both her blouse and jaw, which hangs slack, are covered in a dried, crimson colored liquid – blood, you realize almost immediately. Her eyes, which are a milky white, seem dazed – almost as if she can barely keep them open.
Biting your bottom lip, you glance around the office. There seems to be several things to barricade the door with – including a Lazy Boy recliner, the office desk, a small chair, and the table the TV sits on – if that’s what you decide to do. Of course, there’s always the option of pushing the woman away and running toward your car… if the risk is too great, you’re sure there’s got to be at least a weapon or two somewhere in the office.
You know that the more time you waste, the more time the woman will have to break through the door. The lock on there is very old; strong enough to last for at least a few dozen hits, but not strong enough to last through the whole night by itself.
You know that you need to make a decision – and fast!
Carefully, you begin to move towards the figure, holding your hands out as if approaching an animal.
Still, the figure doesn’t seem to notice you; doesn’t even seem to know what’s going on. Every now and then, its head bobs back and forth, seemingly attempting to stand up straight.
As you step closer, the figure’s eyes catch the glare of the moonlight, reflecting a milky white. You can’t tell if it’s the figure’s natural eye color – are they blind? – or if it’s merely the moon. Once you’re only a few yards away, you can hear raged breaths coming from the figure, breaking the silence of the night. You open your mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a puff of air.
Your heart is hammering wildly in your chest; you can feel your hands shaking, and your eyes much wider than they were back in the office. Attempting to gain control of yourself, you suck in a deep breath and hold it. Slowly, after several seconds, you let it out.
“… Are you alright?” Your voice is quiet, almost as if you don’t want the figure to hear you – in fact, part of you doesn’t even want to be here. Part of you wants to high tail it back to the office and call room 16 from there. But it was too late for that, you think dreadfully, as the figure’s head finally turns to you.
From this position, you can see a crimson glare being reflected from the moon. Immediately, you know it’s blood. The figure – a woman, you can tell now – has the liquid covering both her jaw and blouse. Her arms are now outstretched, and she’s heading in your direction.
“Ma’am?” You ask hesitantly, taking a large step backwards. The step you took, however, wasn’t large enough. The woman snaps forward, bearing her teeth into the forearm you put up on instinct.
Your screams echo across the old parking lot. Blood trails down your arm, dripping onto the gravel and your shoes. With as much strength as you can muster, you raise and tighten your right fist – the one belonging to the uninjured arm. You swing at the woman’s skull, causing her to stumble back… but with a chunk of your flesh in her mouth. Your hot, crimson blood covers her lips.
As much as you want to smash the sole of your sneaker into the woman’s head, your need to bandage the wound comes first. With adrenaline pumping through your veins, you make your way back into the office; you can hear her limping after you, but don’t turn around to see.
You close and lock the office door, your figure trembling. As much as you hate to admit it, you know what that woman is. You watched Night of the Living Dead more than enough times as a kid to know.
You know she’s a zombie, no matter how impossible that seems to be.
As you come to this conclusion, you allow your back to slide down the door, your ass hitting the dirty, beige carpet. Your blood soaks into it, and your eyes flutter shut.
You’re going to die, you realize – if not from blood lose, than simply from… the illness? Whatever that woman suffered from, you know it’s now coursing through your veins as well…
It’s only a matter of time before you become one of them.
It seems as though some crazy stuff is happening and you’re not sure if Sarah is OK. You decide there is only one sure fire way to find out. You decide to go see her. You flip the closed sign on the office door, you grab your coat and your car keys. You lock the place up and you make your way across the parking lot to your car sitting at the edge near the bushes. You stop for a moment and listen. You can’t hear a damn thing. No birds, no traffic, no animals nearby. You look up at the sky and you see no birds flying, no chemtrails left by airplanes. “It’s like everything has stopped.” you say. And look back at the Motel.
Room 16 catches your eye again. It has something about it. An aura of mystery and a sinister feel. But you must get to the city and find Sarah. She is your priority now. You pop open the door to your car and dive back in. The car starts first time and you spin the steering wheel right, slamming into full right lock and turning around to face the highway. You gun it for a couple of seconds and let the tyres peel smoke and dust into the air as the car lurches toward the exit. When you pull to the white painted line that separates the parking lot from the highway. You stop dead. Looking left and right down the deserted highway. You see the sign in front of you, it reads.
CITY CENTRE 55 MILES
You slam your foot on the gas and peel out of the driveway in a screech of tires and smoke. The car straightens out and you gun it. Speeding down the lost highway toward the city. You wonder how Sarah is. Your thoughts are running wild as you hit 60mph and keep it there. Cruising nice and steady. “I wonder if she’s OK?” you ask yourself. “It’s so unlike her.” You head out now, into the tree lined section of the highway that rolls out into countryside and hills. The desolate space reminds you that there is a lot of driving to be done. But luckily there is little traffic on the road. You cruise past all the familiar spots.
The weird oak tree that you used to play around as a kid. You used to think it was haunted and a place where witches were hung according to tales you had heard off the old man with the white beard. The deserted BowlARama that teenagers in the area would drive up to and make out on a Saturday evening. You remember a tale that someone told you many years ago. As you drive past you recall it. Way back in high school a boy called Mark Jacobson told you and your friends about when the BowlARama back in the 50’s was open and thriving. It was a Saturday night and the place was packed. Kids from all over the state had driven over to kick back here and drink some malt.
One of the cashiers, a guy everyone called Milky because of his right eye. Blind with glaucoma. He was bullied at work for years you were told. And one night on a Saturday he flipped. Took his granddads AK47 to work and took out 20 kids. Just stood shooting into the BowlARama until an off duty cop blew his brains out. You suddenly remember this as you drive past the deserted building. The ghost stories you told each other as kids. You remember back to when you thought the place was haunted and you got spooked by it. The blood curdling screams you thought you heard coming from inside on those long winter nights.
Why are you remembering all this now? What part of you is bringing back these memories and for what purpose? What role could they serve other than to fog your judgement right now? You ease off the gas a little and cruise a bit slower. Past the wheat and corn fields that you used to run through as a kid. The tall swaying ears of corn that rustle as the wind whips through them. You remember running hell for leather through them past a scare crow everyone called “old bones”. Nobody ever saw the farmer. Just that black scare crow with the pumpkin head. By the time you were a teenager that head had dried and baked hard over a lifetime of summers. It looked like a mummy now as you fly by. You turn around for a second, watching it vanish up the highway behind you.
BANG!
A loud thud and your car hits a tall thick shadowy figure in the road and starts to swerve violently. “Oh fuck what was that….. WHAT WAS THAT?” You yell as the car yanks itself left and off into a grass ditch at the side of the road. Bumping and jumping hard for a second or two until the shear drag of the long grass brings you to a halt. The engine steams. “Fuck I think it was a person.” you whisper. You pop the door and get out of the car. You move round to the front and see blood spatters all over the hood and grill. The grill is bent right out of shape. And there’s a sharp hole in the radiator. You crouch and take a closer look.
Something long and spike like has pierced right through the metal and screwed the engine up. “What the hell could of done that?” you ask. Standing up you step through the thick roadside grass back up onto the highway. Looking left and right to see nothing coming. No traffic still. And nothing in the road either. You make your way back up to a large pizza shaped blood stain on the road where whatever or whoever it was you hit once stood. But there is nothing else. Four acrid black tire marks start just after the blood stain and follow the trail all the way to where your car left the road. Steam still billowing from the engine.
“What the fuck is going on? I definitely hit….. something.” You say frustratedly looking around. Clearly there was an impact, clearly there’s blood. But nothing else. “Maybe it was a cow. The horns ruptured the radiator.” You say to yourself trying to calm down. Trying to make sense of it all. You pull out your cell phone. No signal. “Jesus fucking Christ phone….WORK!” You scream in desperation.
Just as you turn to head back to the car you see a dirt road running parallel to the scene of the crash. It runs off the highway and down to an arched sign over the road. But you cant read the sign. Zipping your jacket up you head down toward the sign. On the roadside a smaller sign like a real estate board reads:
Taunton Amusement Park – Open All Year Round
“Park huh? Well at least they might have a phone I can use.” You say as you head down the dirt track toward the arched sign. Passing under it. It is cast iron and very old. It was once bright green but is now faded and chipped and rusted. It looks heavy and reads TAUNTON AMUSEMENTS – The Dream Factory. “Huh yeah looks dreamy all ready.” You chuckle. Still walking down the dirt track until you get to a small wooden hut with a green rusty metal turnstile attached to it. “This must be the ticket office.” You say. Peering inside the cobweb infested hut you see a ticket machine. Some piles of unprinted tickets and little else. “Damn no phone. Maybe inside the main office.” You say looking up into the entrance of the park.
There is a carousel, a tall yellow rollercoaster called Monster, and a ghost train called House Of Death. There are hundreds of other rides behind rolling back for ages. The place looks deserted. But there is a light on at the main office next to the haunted house. “Hmmm maybe it’s the off season, probably a maintenance guy hanging around.” You jump the turnstile and instantly feel as though something is wrong. You walk past the old Candy Grabber machines still full of candy, you pass the hot dog stand and the soda bar. And eventually you get to the haunted house. Inside the machines and animatronics are still working.
Now and again you hear one of the cars click and rumble its way around and then burst out of the double doors. Just coming to a halt near you. As you stand by the guard rail. “Hey anyone home.” You shout up through the doors into the darkness. But you get no reply. In fact the moment you speak the haunted house seems to shut down. All the lights go off, the clicking stops. The cars stop coming through. “What the fuck?” you say walking up the steps to the track where the ghost train cars come past. This haunted house ghost train is pretty old. It looks like it needs a lot of work done to it so maybe there is a maintenance guy inside.
You step across the track rails and gently push the black wooden doors open. “Hey is anyone there? I need to use a phone. There’s been an accident.” There’s an echo. But very little else. You stare down the end corridor of the haunted house ride. There are silly fake luminous ghosts and half eaten zombies hanging from the walls and ceiling. Down at the far end you see a dog leg turn to the left. And what looks like a jail scene. A padded cell with an inmate in a straight jacked slumped over in a wooden chair, the jail door is open and there is a technician. He looks like a large bald man, kneeling down to the fake prisoners legs, fixing something.
The prisoner animatronic is still on, it writhes and screams behind its mouth gag. “Hey you…. you work here man?” You shout. But there is no response. “What the fuck? Everyone deaf round here?” You mumble to yourself as you head down the corridor. The door swings shut behind you starving the place of daylight. Only the workman’s lamp now shines down into your eyes from the end of the corridor. “Hey dude I need to use a phone.” You say again. Watching the grimy mechanic on his hands and knees still doing something to the animated prisoner. “Hey!” You shout. Getting pissed.
The technician groans. You stop dead in your tracks. “What the FUCK?” You ask. You hear what sounds like a chomping noise coming from the technician . You get within six feet and he stands up. And turns. His face from the nose down is covered in blood. Behind him, the animated prisoner you realize is a REAL person. And his legs are all chewed up and broken. “Holy fuck!” The huge man reaches for you. Stomping after you down the corridor. Groaning and spewing blood everywhere. You spin on your heels and run like fuck back out of the haunted house attraction. You jump the barrier and out onto the asphalt.
You wait, and watch the huge slow monster of a man in red coveralls lurch his way out of the attraction. And bump into the guard rail. You quickly look left and right. And find a four feet stretch of bike chain hanging off the back of an old hot dog cart. You get the gloves underneath the counter and wrap the chain around your fist. Stepping out back into the centre of the asphalt. Between the rides. Just you. And the monster. You take a long deep breath. And get a firm stance as he lurches closer, groaning.
You decide it’s time to make your way out of hiding and get out of the area.
You grab the first shotgun and immediately notice its’ the 12 gauge. It’s a short barreled Mossberg with a black and blue finish. This one also had a sling hooked onto each end. You load a couple of the slugs into it and set it against the desk. The second shotgun, the 16 gauge, had a longer barrel. It was a traditional older style of gun. It seemed antique, but reliable. You notice this one is already loaded, so you simply set it near the door.
“Well, Mr. B. I’m clocking out early today,” you whisper to yourself as you grab your punch card and time yourself out at the clock near the door.
You take a step to the computer once more and think of staying to check some things on the internet, but you grow tired of being closed in.
You reach over and grab the 12 gauge and start for the door. As from the obvious sounds of the heinous beasts trying to get in from the other, you can tell where they’re at by their shadows under the door. You draw up the shotgun to where you think it’ll hit one of them through the door.
“Exhale, and gentle squeeze,” you recite to yourself. But as your finger squeezes down, the kick comes at you with full force. Stumbling backwards, you’ve also made yourself damn near deaf! Looking up towards the door, you can see the shot clearly made its way through the door just fine. And once more, there wasn’t anything standing behind the hole.
Regaining your stance, you try to focus on where the second one was at, but the ringing in your ear disorients you slightly. Clenching your eyes closed tightly, your ears feel as though they’re bleeding. A strange clicking noise finally starts registering in your head and you find yourself looking at the woman’s face through the hole in the door. Her eyes. They catch your view and stop your body like a paralytic poison flowing through your veins. And just at that moment, you blackout.
Several hours pass before you come to. And you begin to realize, you can’t hear anything. And a palpable darkness seemed to have set in since you last remember. All the power appeared to have been cut. No computer light, no office lights, no nothing. Just some faint night time eye adjustment.
You can barely make out the hole in the door, but there doesn’t seem to be anything trying to get through to you in it.
You slowly draw the pistol from your pocket and begin crawling ever so quietly toward the door. Once you reach it, you sit up onto a knee to look through. A dark mess lies on the other side in a pool of crimson red. And if you squint, you can just make out the desk and see past it through the window.
“It’s now or never,” you tell yourself as you build the courage to open the door.
A tiny creak comes from the bottom hinge, but it was too short and not nearly intense enough to be alarming. Still trying to stay low and quiet, you continue crawling on your knees. One slow, steady step at a time. Once you make it to the hallway going to the laundry room, you try peaking around the corner. Nothing. No movement, no noise, not even a whisper.
You allow yourself the belief that it’s clear. You decide to crawl on your stomach past the hallway, just in case. With your pistol in your right hand, you begin to army crawl very slowly. You hardly notice you gun clicking on impact as your hand hits the ground. This makes you start keeping your hand higher off the ground, but you clear the hallway unscathed.
Now, you make your way to the back of the desk. Rising up just enough to check the other side of it, you see nothing.
*Click*
You check near the door going outside. Nothing. You begin to rush yourself, feeling closer and closer to getting to your car and being able to leave this haunting place.
Raising your body to the desk, you begin to mantle it. Quietly and gently lowering yourself over the other side. You press your chest against the ground once again and hope you can make it outside safely. “Once there, I can run and shoot with a little more light than this,” you think to yourself, noting the full moon outside.
*Click**Click*
You think you hear a clicking noise, but quickly dismiss it. Once you reach the door frame, you check the corners.
A tiny crackling noise comes from behind you and startles you so much that your crawl around the left of the doorway and set your back again the wall.
*Click*
“I’ve made it,” you think to yourself. “I’ve fucking made it!”
*Click**Click*
One of the clicks catches your attention and you freeze up. It came from inside the office. You lower yourself. The ground bracing your back. You roll over enough to glance around the corner. And right in front of your eyes stands two high heeled shoes. You try not to scream but the feeling of her nails scratching at your skin and her teeth pressing through to your bones forced out a shrill cry of absolute terror that lasted but a second.
Who would be sending “confirmation” e-mails during a time like this anyways?
You reluctantly drag the cursor over the “Open” button on the small dialogue box.
The page reads:
Subject: Confirmation
Sender: Cpl. Stewart
My CO is asking for your confirmation code on Project Black Death. I have to ask for your designator, your ID, and your current Base of Operation. I’ve also been asked to record your last two video journal logs.
There’s rumor that the Catalyst might’ve defected. Watch yourself.
Now what could that mean?
You decide to see if you can find some more e-mails that may clarify what that was above. One catches your eye with the subject of “Serum 872.”
Subject: Serum 872
Sender: Dr. McNally
Our research on you proposed chemical make-up for the project has turned up positive. In light of your efforts, we’ve got a low-key designation for you to begin your work out of. A small motel, you’ll hardly be bothered.
Currently, we are wiring you some funds to get the place up and running enough to keep you under the radar. But, you’ll still have some freedom.
We look forward to good things from you, Burrows. Don’t screw this up.
“N-..no. It couldn’t be,” you begin to choke on your words.
Has he really been a part of this? Did he do “that” to those people? You find several more e-mails that almost blatantly state the same thing. A series of blueprint were also sent in the e-mails, all of which being variants on possible set-ups for what was to be “his lab.” And he even had those e-mails grouped together in a folder called “R16.”
The information shocks you to an extent that you hardly realize what to do any more. What could I do? How could I try to get out of this situation? You think through a few very simple ideas;
Without hesitation, you dash towards the back room.
The door is locked!
“Shit!”
You remember the key is in the cash register behind the desk. As you turn to look to the desk, a terrible sound catches your ear. The snapping and crackling of wood. Your mind races with thoughts as to what it may be, but you know you have to get the key.
Your feet start moving again, though, not in such a hurry this time. You’re moving, but you don’t feel the urge to go back to the sight of those two again. Just as you think this, the sound of one of the glass windows shattering stops you dead in your tracks.
“No…”
“The shits hit the fan now,” you think to yourself. And in the light from the hallway, a dark silhouette forms. As it rises up from the other side of the desk, the features begin to show. She is in. You lean forward just enough to start running for the register, but when you get to the desk, you notice the door has been smashed to pieces on the floor. But…
“Where the f-,“ you barely speak loud enough to hear yourself as just then the girl screeches.
You stumble and almost fall to the floor, catching yourself with your left hand. You look up to see the girl has thrown herself across the desk in an attempt to grab you. She seems caught and you realize your chance is open. You manage to get the register open and grab the key before turning to leave.
A brief moan from the girl alerts you that she may be able to get you if you don’t block her reach. In a moment of quick thinking, you grab the computer chair and push it into her face and rush past her. But your efforts are quickly denoted as you turn from the desk to see the man standing between you and the back room.
Standing a mere ten feet away, the sight of him causes your hand to shake.
“So… so much blood…”
The man begins to move toward you and you’ve no other choice but to go through him. You lower yourself a bit and run into a shoulder charge. As you throw him out of your way, one of his hands barely catches your hair but instead scratches down your back.
“Fuck!”
While he’s on the ground, you hurry to the door and unlock it. You press yourself into the palpable darkness within and lock the door behind you. You immediately notice that there are no windows in this room and that the light is off. All you can make out is a faint blue light, possibly coming from Mr. B’s computer.
“Now where the hell is that light switch…”
Your hands begin feeling around the walls on each side of the door. You also begin to notice that you have begun numbing yourself to the sound of the moans and inhumane screeches coming from the other side of the door.
A tone comes from the computer, and you give up on the light switch. As you’re on your way to the computer, you remember that tone must’ve been from receiving and e-mail.
“Mr. Burrows isn’t in right now…” you joke to yourself. Just before you get to the computer, you feel something tingly pass across your ear.
“Gah!”
You flinch, not knowing what it was. However, the metallic feel of it made you think it was a chain for the light.
You regain yourself, “Ah, finally.”
You pull the chain and nothing happens. You pull it again. Still nothing. You reach up to discover there is no light bulb in the socket.
“A-and never mind,” you express in a sarcastically happy tone.
Once you’re at the computer you feel around the face of the monitor to find the power button. Once you click it on, the light from the generic background lights up a little bit of the room. You can make out where the gun cabinet is, the water heater, and a couple racks of random office supplies.
You feel tenseness in your hand that’s holding the phone.
“Oh yeah,” you begin, “that’s right.”
You pull the phone up and try to figure out why it’s not lighting up when you press the buttons. Upon investigation, it appears the back of the phone had fallen off along with the battery. You think it must’ve happened when you were rushing around.
“This just gets better and better, huh?” you think to yourself. You pull open a drawer from the desk that the computer monitor is on and pull out a piece of paper with a series of numbers on it. You then go over to the gun cabinet and enter these numbers into the number pad on the door.
Inside, you notice two different shotguns, and a handgun. On a shelf at the top of the cabinet you count two boxes of 9mm ammo, and extra pistol mag, a box of 12 gauge shotgun slugs as well as a box of 16 gauge shotgun shells. You immediately grab the handgun and check to find that both the clips are already loaded. As you slip it into your right pocket and the extra mag into your left, you are drawn to the computer again as another e-mail had been sent to it.
The subject line read, “Confirmation.”
“Confirmation of what?” you ask yourself.
Stuck in a room with only one way out and little light, you figure you should think of a way to get out or get help. But, something definitely seemed off-setting about that e-mail.
Even though this strange woman might be able to break through the lock after a while, a barricade will keep you safer – way safer than trying to go out there and fight. The woman’s got blood on her, for Christ’s sake!
Looking around, the office desk seems like the best thing to push right up against the door. Although, that recliner is awfully big… maybe that should be pushed first, then the desk behind it. Does it really make a difference which way they go, if they’re all pushing up against the same thing?
‘Yes, it does matter,’ you think. ‘The desk should definitely go first.’ You walk around to the other side of it and begin pushing towards the door. It budges only a little bit each time you push it because of the things inside, which isn’t as fast as you’d like. You hear her against the door again and again, making that moaning sound. It’s starting to really terrify you.
After a few minutes of heavy pushing, the desk is finally up against the door. You still hear her making the weird noises and trying to get in, but you feel safer now. At least a little bit, that is. Your next move is to get that big old recliner up against the desk.
This is actually easier to move, since it isn’t filled with stuff. It’s just large and awkward to move. You push it up against the desk, as close as you possibly can. She’s still hitting the door, but it’s unlikely she can get through. Could she really be that strong, even if she’s dangerous? You don’t like the stories you’ve been hearing. This woman has got to be part of everything that’s going on in the city. There doesn’t seem to be another explanation.
You decide to not push the other chair anywhere. It weighs nothing and you’d like somewhere to sit. The same goes for the little table. They wouldn’t make a difference to this woman if she got through, so you figure it’s not worth the extra effort. You just want to sit down and catch your breath. It was only a little bit of manual labor, but still more than you’re used to. You need to calm down and let your heart rate settle if you’re going to have to act quickly again.
Hearing the woman bang up against the door again and again is really frightening. Whose blood is on her lips? Certainly not hers, and that’s a pretty goddamn awful thought. Did she kill somebody? Was it someone she knew, that was staying with her, or did she lure someone in? Her eyes make it seem like she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing, so she probably didn’t do any luring.
She’s still making that grim moaning noise. ‘Just give up, goddamn it!’ you think. ‘Leave me the hell alone.’
You sit, watching the desk shake ever so slightly. Does that mean she’s almost able to break through? That the lock is ready to break and she’ll be able to come right in? You tell yourself you’re just being paranoid, but are you really? No, not so much. It’s not paranoid to be afraid of someone who’s trying to get into where you are, covered in blood… that’s normal. She is definitely a threat and it isn’t possible to be too worried.
It’s not enough, you realize, to just have a desk and a recliner barricading the door. It’s not heavy enough, not stable enough… ‘If only there were a large, heavy bookcase in the office,’ you think. Something like that would probably be too strong to knock over, especially by someone who doesn’t seem to be all that strong. You shake your head. You can’t think about “what ifs” when something so important is happening right here and now. There isn’t a magical bookshelf, and you’ll just have to deal.
You sit there and wait for what feels like hours. Really, it’s only about twenty minutes. You’ve been as quiet as possible, afraid that making any noise might make this woman crazier, stronger, faster… whatever sorts of reactions that could get you killed. You keep hearing her groan and moan, and occasionally it sounds like she’s choking on something or gagging. It’s disgusting. The banging noises the woman is making continue, too, until… CRACK.
The sudden change in noise startles you out of your chair. She continues to push up against the door, but this time it’s clear that she’s gotten through the lock. That has to be what the loud noise was: the lock breaking. It won’t be long before she’s really inside, face to face with you. That’s a terrible thought, since her eyes are all screwed up and she’s making the worst noises. Facing this woman is the last thing you’d like to do right now, or ever.
It turns out that barricading wasn’t enough. You have to do something else, as soon as you can – or you might not make it. You could move all the furniture again and try to ambush her and run away, but would moving everything again take too long? You could also look for something to hurt her with, so that once she’s made it through, you can attack. Or you can wait. Just simply wait it out. Because, really, won’t she eventually give up? She’s made a little bit of progress, but not much, and maybe this will just stop. She’ll move onto another place and try to break in there. Even if she’s crazy and dangerous, she must realize it’s been way too long and nothing’s going to happen.
You need to decide what to do about this woman. If you wait too long, your life may be in danger.
‘I need to find something to defend myself. She’s not going away, I have to make my move now.’
You rummage through some drawers and the best weapon you can find is a hammer. It’s old and rusty, but that should make no difference in its ability to hurt someone. It’s still fairly heavy, and the woman isn’t all that hefty. A hammer should work just fine.
You wonder more about this woman. What if she’s innocent, in some kind of psychotic episode? What if she has no idea what’s going on? Or, even worse, what if she knows what’s going on and she’s trying desperately to stop it but she just can’t? If you hurt her, you might be the bad guy. Self-defense might not be considered a defense at all.
But she’s covered in blood, for fuck’s sake, so who cares? It’s no time to be thinking about your future court defense. You need to immobilize her as quickly as possible and get the hell out of here. It’s not safe here. Who knows if any place will be safe, but you have to at least give it a try. The office is now a danger zone.
You walk over to the door, hammer held up in the air, ready to strike: you are so ready for this to happen, you were born for it. Or, so you tell yourself. Either way, it’s what you’ve decided to do. Now you must wait for her to open the door enough for you to reach her.
It’s taking longer than you would’ve thought. You’re about ready to give up and think of something else when the furniture moves just enough for her hand to reach inside.
It’s terrifying to watch, like she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. She’s trying to make her way inside, it seems, but it’s just so difficult for her. Her hands are limp, and you can sort-of see that her eyes are glazed over. She really has no clue what is going on. She doesn’t even seem to notice you looking at her through the opening.
After a minute or so, she manages to push through the barricade enough to be half inside the doorway. This is your time to strike.
Wielding the hammer, you slam it down onto her shoulders as hard as you can, hoping it will immobilize her. She seems to look at you. You know that strike wasn’t enough. It wasn’t in a fragile enough place. Even if her shoulder blade shattered, she would still likely be a threat. ‘Ugh,’ you think. ‘This is screwed up, being able to tell that a broken bone wouldn’t stop them.’
You didn’t want to hurt her in a place where she might die or be seriously injured… what if this is just some temporary disease and she’s a nice, normal person? It doesn’t matter. You don’t want to be the next person whose blood is covering her. You don’t want her to drink your blood or eat you or whatever the hell it is she’s trying to do. You don’t have any alternative besides dying.
You raise the hammer up again and try to smash it into the side of her head without knocking her brains out. Even thinking about that makes you shudder. She falls down awkwardly between the door and the desk she pushed out. She makes another strange noise, somewhere between a groan and a yelp of pain. It must have hurt her, but didn’t knock her out completely. Damn it.
The only way out is through the door that is somewhat blocked. You could climb over her head, but what if she tries to bite you or something? Her mouth is covered in blood, after all. This might all be about trying to bite someone. The only other way out is to go over the makeshift barricade. You’ll still have to climb over her lower half, though.
Taking a deep breath, you jump on top of the recliner. You stand there for a moment to assess the situation. Once you’re on the desk, you can lean over a bit and use the hammer to hurt her again. She’s still making a god awful groaning noise that you think you’ll hear in your nightmares for the rest of your life.
You move from the recliner to the desk and peer over the side. She’s on her stomach, trying to move her head a bit as she groans. The rest of her isn’t really moving. Her hands a little bit – but that’s it. The rest of her seems unable to move, at least not enough to stand up. You lean over a bit more and bring the hammer down onto the back of her head. You don’t do it as hard as you could, just in case this comes back to bite you in the ass in the form of a self-defense murder case.
Not much seems to happen. She’s still slightly moving, making noise and being creepy as fuck. You decide to hit her on the back, right on her spine – even if it doesn’t permanently damage her, it should keep her down. You know it’s unlikely she could get up on her own anyway, but just to be safe… you can’t take any chances. You know this woman might actually be able to kill you.
This time, you hit her on the back with the hammer as hard as you can. You hear a cracking noise that startles you. ‘Of course that happens,’ you think. ‘But fuck, that’s an awful sound.’
Your only way off the desk is to step over her legs, but it doesn’t seem like they’ll be giving you any trouble. She isn’t moving them at all. You make the small jump from the desk to her body on the ground. Standing on her legs isn’t very stable, so you hold onto the door frame for support. Underneath you, the woman is still moving only ever so slightly. The open space of the door isn’t very large, so you have to squeeze your way through. The doorknob digs into you and you think how much it hurts – but quickly realize you could have been in a lot more pain.
You squeeze your way completely through the opening and feel the cool outside air. For a moment it feels wonderful and calming, but that moment is fleeting. Panic hits you like a thousand bricks. Something really screwed up is happening in the city, and even though you don’t know what it is, you know it’s serious. You can’t just hide in a corner waiting for it to stop. You need to do something, but what the hell is there to do?
Your girlfriend may be in danger, and she’s the first thing on your mind. But then again, as busy as the cops might be, it’s usually best to reach them first. They’re the ones with weapons and badges, after all. Then again… you could just start running and figure things out along the way. It’s not the world’s best plan, but it might just be what saves you tonight. What are you going to do?
With your luck you’d shoot yourself as easily as shooting a zombie! You pick up the knife and move towards the door. The woman is still banging on the door and you take a moment to really look at her. Besides a few bruises and some torn cloths the only real wound you can see is a large bite taken out of her upper arm. “Its just like in all the old movies…” you mutter to yourself. “Well whatever I do I cant let her bite or scratch me.”
You build up your courage and unlock the door. You quickly shove the door back right as she go’s to slam into it again knocking her off her feet! You quickly leap foreword and slam the knife into her eye socket with all your strength (witch was probably overkill, but with all that adrenaline coursing through your veins you probably couldn’t have done otherwise) and it slices through her brain and slams into the concrete bending the blade to the side!
Your not getting that weapon back unless you want to push it all the way through and it probably wouldn’t work well anyway. After glancing around to make shore her other roommates aren’t around you head back into the office to grab the gun; because you figure its probably better to have a Crappy weapon than to have no weapon. After grabbing your gun and jogging out to the car you hop in and start it up. Now you have a decision to make. You know Jack has some pretty cool mid-level weapons that would kill lots of zombies without attracting more, but you really want to find Sarah and see if she’s ok.
