Afterworld: Into the Arms of Darkness Ch.19
Title: Afterworld: Into the Arms of Darkness
By: Pink Rabbit Productions
Chapter: 19
Date: 24 September, 2010
Disclaimer: Hmmm, characters, not mine, situation, mine, though with the proviso that certain scenarios owe a major debt of gratitude to George Romero. Sex? Likely. Genders involved? Likely all female (at least anything on camera). Also there are likely to be very bad things in this story. I'm not one for prodigious amounts of gore, but this is horror and there is likely to be ickiness and things that might disturb some folks. Seriously. If it's gonna bother you, move along.
Summary: When the dead rise, civilization falls.
Author's Notes: Awhile back, just for fun, I did a faux movie poster that set Otalia in a horror setting and used some elements from an idea I've had running around for ages (what can I say---it was the Halloween season). See the poster here: http://altfic.com/artgallery/otalia/glafterworld01b.htm . Sooo, at some point, it seemed like fun to take a gander at writing them in that universe. I've quite deliberately tried to break away from my usual style and make it a bit faster moving, with frequent chapter breaks, deliberate cliffhangers, shorter scenes and more directed pov. We'll see if I can keep to one pov per chapter (well, they are short chapters...lol).
Dedicated to: My mom. Seriously. All of my growing up years, she would constantly throw me these what-if scenarios and press me to figure out logical ways to survive/get out of various emergency situations. Now, she never mentioned the zombie apocalypse, but I'm sure that was just an oversight or a desire not to scare a little kid (because, really, I grew up as the daughter of a top secret type during the cold war...I already had enough fear issues), but really, that odd little game was the genesis of...well...not just this story, but a lot of my love of writing. So, thanks mom.
Previous Chapters: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 |
Afterworld:
Into the Arms of Darkness
Chapter 19
Resisting the urge to curse, Natalia drew the shotgun from its sling on her back. "Please, no," she exhaled as she recognized the sound and knew right where he was and what he was doing.
Colin's room on the second floor, standing at the window, playing with the latch.
He'd done it by the hour when his son was sick.
When his son was dying.
He'd been able to secure the house, hell, secure most of the neighborhood for his friends and family. He'd brought in supplies from his business, taught people how to reinforce their homes, become a leader in the small community that defied the evacuation orders and remained behind. He was the one who'd figured a way to access an old local well and keep everyone supplied with water and the one who came up with a generator system to keep the power tools charged. He'd used every bit of the knowledge he'd gained as a contractor to find ways to make survival possible and even reasonably comfortable. He'd given and given in spite of losses and failures and more pain than any body should have to bear.
But he couldn't do anything to save his own child except take his turn washing down the tiny, feverish body and standing at the watch.
In the end, none of it worked.
They lost Colin.
And then everything tumbled like a complicated domino pattern that, no matter what anyone did, could only come down one way.
So he'd stood there helplessly, watching his life come apart, then watching everything he had ever loved scream at him in a rage from the grass below the window.
Shuffle, shuffle, click, click.
Watched until Natalia could feel him pulling away from them all, even though he was standing right there.
Shuffle, shuffle, click, click.
Her stomach rolled into a tight knot. Please, no. She wasn't ready for this.
Blinking at the burning tears, she shook off the desire to run and hide. If it came down it, Josh would understand, she reminded herself. He might have been the only one she knew who'd truly chosen his existence, but harming her or an innocent child wasn't something he would ever have wanted.
He. Would. Understand.
She repeated the mantra over and over in her head as she climbed the stairs on light feet. Mildly bloodied from her fight with Olivia, she half expected the scent to draw him and to hear the sounds of pounding feet headed her way. But the repetitious sounds continued unabated.
Shuffle, shuffle, click, click.
A skipping record needle on the soundtrack of an ages old tragedy perpetually replaying itself.
Shuffle, shuffle, click, click.
The room at the end of the hallway, the door open for the first time in nearly two months. Unable to bear the sight, she'd closed it the day he gave in and left it that way every day since.
Knowing every step and board that might creak or rattle, she moved carefully, not making a sound as she advanced until finally, she stood in the open doorway.
He stood at the window, his back to the door, silhouetted so that she almost couldn't see the gaping wound over his spine, while his ruined left forearm was folded in front of his body and hidden from view. He'd gotten the shutters open and his right hand rested on the window ledge, long, blunt fingers repetitively sliding the latch back and forth.
For just a second, it was as though nothing had changed. She half expected him to turn and peer at her with wide, sad eyes before he took off to fix something or see to some task. That was how he'd spent those last days, seeing to the house and security, making sure everything was working in the neighborhood and ensuring she was safe before he...
Shying from that thought, she fought the urge to speak to him, some part of her still convinced there had to be some remaining sliver of the friend who'd listened to her problems by the hour without ever standing in judgment, the neighbor who'd cared enough to invite her into his home when she was alone in the world, the human being who'd tried so hard to reassure her that there was still hope for Rafe.
His name was on the tip of her tongue, while the hand braced under the shotgun slide was holding on loosely. Ready to reach out.
When he turned.
And the illusion of remaining humanity disappeared in an instant as he saw her and his expression contorted into one of pure fury, shattered, bloody teeth showing as he opened his mouth wide in a raging scream.
Natalia wouldn't have known she pulled the trigger, except she felt the kick and saw the gaping, black wound that flowered in his midsection even as the window behind him shattered. Pellets must have torn through his body, then out his back. More damage an already impaired body, but still he didn't go down, just staggered, nearly upending himself as he fought for his balance. Unlike Reva and some of the others, he was slower moving and uncoordinated. Probably the spinal damage.
Then his feet skidded and went out from under him and he toppled backwards. Like a turtle trapped on its back, he fumbled and fought, his ruined arm making it even harder because he didn't seem to know he didn't have a working hand on that side.
Watching him like that, so helpless and destroyed, she felt tears burn her eyes. She knew she should shoot, end the misery, but her finger remained frozen on the trigger when he looked at her with a confused expression, as though hunting for some kind of answer to a question he could no longer comprehend.
And then he was screaming again as he hooked an arm over the window sill in an effort to haul himself upright.
He never noticed the way the remaining shards of glass tore at flesh, shredding it to the bone.
They never felt pain as far as Natalia could tell.
It made them twice as terrible.
Tears were tracking down her cheeks and she was shaking, but her hands were firm on the shotgun. A part of her almost wanted to let go, let him have her.
It would almost be justice.
He found his feet, but was still too unstable to lunge.
Still her finger didn't move. She might as well have been cast in cement.
And then she heard something that made her blood go cold.
A small, worried voice from the doorway at her back. "Natalia..."
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TBC