Fucking wonderful, I'm going to die in Paradise. Heavily exhaling, I turned away, shut my eyes and slid down the steel door, a light thump as I hit the ground. There was no use in trying to stop the bleeding now, it was too late. I'm not sure how much I've lost, but from all of this feather like lightness I was feeling, I'll take an educated guess and say that I don't have much longer.
Cradling my face in my bloodied hands, I ignored how the sickly liquid stuck to my cheeks. The tears were already mixing in with it, making small, clean streaks down my skin. "Fuck, Sara" My voice cracked, although no one was around to detect it. "It's over."
The so I've been housing for way too long finally made its way up my throat, and I couldn't stop it. Curling my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around myself, sobbing hard enough that I could audition to be a Siren if I had wanted.
Were Doug and Olive ok? Did they make back to the truck? Or were they caught, shot, or possibly beaten to death?
What about Aaron? Where is he now? If he's alive, he's long gone from here. He has no reason to stay. I wouldn't be surprised if he assumed I was dead and left without a second thought. Not like he would have stayed had he known I was alive, right? Infected don't think, they don't feel, and they certainly don't value other's lives aside from themselves, especially if the victim's a survivor.
But what if he isn't alive? What if after I was put down, he was shot, beaten, tortured, killed? What if his body is somewhere in the library, rotting away and I missed it?
I buried my face deeper into my palms. I should never let him stick around. I might not regret saving him in the forest that day, but I should have chased him away when I had the chance. He only neared by before because he felt obligated to, like he owed me a debt. But with the shit I've put him through, that debt isn't worth it. And he knew.
So why did he stay? Was it because I was a reliable food source, but without the work? No, that couldn't be it. Most infected felt enjoyment in a kill, supposedly some sort of adrenaline. Why would they give that up? The more sensible explanation would be that he only thought of it as a game, and all of this was just for his amusement. But if he only stuck around to prevent boredom, why didn't he leave when it stopped benefitting him? When I bit off more than I could chew?
"Dammit Aaron…" I squeaked, tasting the blood on my palm. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…" The apology became a chant, one that I continued to utter until my throat was so raw I could wheeze out another syllable.
I heard the figure in the corner move.
Bringing my face out of my hands, I looked up, only to find black ensnaring my vision. I listened for something, anything to tell me where the monster could have been hiding. It was silent, with no other sound aside from my own quick breaths. I briefly thought of the combat knife, thrown to the floor when I had been tossed in here. Lunging forward, I felt around on the ground until the handle bumped against my fingertips.
Clasping the weapon tightly in my hands, my eyes darted around, dispite the fact that it was still indeed pitch black. My heart was beating rapidly, pounding in my ears. It was all I could hear for the next minute, that it, until a heard a small snarl right beside me.
Choking, I leaped back in fear, only to find that the creature had advanced as I did so. By reflex, I made a kick to where I thought their mid-section would have been, only to have my foot caught and pinned to the ground. I whimpered.
Sitting up straight, I raised the knife into the air, preparing myself. A limb lashed out and caught my arm, slamming it against the floor. My only weapon flew from my grasp, clattering some few feet away. Using my other limbs, I struggled with my attacker. But to no avail, they climbed on top of me, effectively restraining me.
This was it, this is how I die. Another, louder noise came from the creature. Recognizing the noise, it was no doubt an infected, a special infected at that. To be more specific, a Leaper. Once you spend enough time with one, you can tell their calls distinctively from the others. Only, this one was different. It wasn't angry, it didn't even sound hungry. It sounded…confused? Almost as if it was surprised by my reaction.
A sad part of my conscious peeked, and the word escaped my mouth before I could prevent it. "Aaron?"
The Leaper hunched over me, leaning down into my neck. There was a moment of him just taking in my scent, which I was sure was overcome by the smell of blood. Suddenly, the weight on my limbs lifted, and I was free from his grasp.
He remained on top of me however, not that I minded anyway. In fact, the split second he released my arms, I threw them around his sides, my hands digging into the fabric of his clothes and dug my face into his chest. Fuck personal space, I really needed a sign of life right not, even if it wasn't human life. Relief washed over me to the point I was beginning to drown in it.
Aaron tensed from the unexpected action, but made no move to remove me. Instead, his hands lifted to hover over my sides. It's not like he was uncomfortable with this, dispite his obvious hatred for close physical contact, but something told me he just wasn't sure how to respond. I don't blame him either.
My shoulder and neck were burning, but I was either too busy sobbing to care, or perhaps crying out the pain while it bled from me to him. I could feel the tenseness in his muscles, slowly loosening up with each moment. Once he was relaxed, he allowed me to sit there, holding him in fear that if I let go he would be gone.
With the relief, came the feeling of having to explain myself, dispite the fact that it was never asked for and the receiving party wouldn't be able to understand or answer if he could. But it didn't stop me. "I'm so sorry…" I mumbled into his chest, pressing my nose deeper into the fabric. "This is all my fault…" My sentence was all jumbled together, and I was crying too hard to prevent myself from speaking in the classic high pitch either.
As expected, there was no actual answer from the male. His only response was a neutral growl, which for some reason, was long and soft, almost like a purr. The clawed hands tha hovered over me finally settled on my upper arms, tSirening in uncertainty.
I had no problem with this, until one of his claws nicked near my wound, which sent a fiery train of pain through my spine. Pulling away from him, I automatically swatted his hand away. He gave a confused rumble, stopping short when I guess he caught sight of the source of pain.
I thought about his inverted eyes, how they helped him to see in conditions of low light. Could he still see when I was blind? A claw trailed down my neck, careful to avoid the gash confirmed it. Jeez, I thought. I bet I look like a mess.
"This…" I trialed off, thinking. "Hurts like a bitch." I inwardly smiled something I haven't done in a long time. There was no use lying, since it wouldn't have benefitted me anyway. There's always the option that I could lie to myself, but reality was too horrific to try to cover up right now.
There was pause, then something wet and warm dragged along the base of my neck. I flinched greatly in surprise, yelping in pain. "…Aaron?" He continued to drag in what I guessed what was his tongue along my skin, lapping up the blood that had dried in layers. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it didn't feel like spikes either. I wasn't sure whether to push him away or let him continue. It felt like he was trying to help, more than anything.
What started out as small, subtle licks cleaning the blood began to escalate; now taking care of the main problem, the actual gash. There was a short feeling of roughness against the raw skin and I cringed at the sting, my hands instinctively raising and clutching his hair. It was then I noticed that his hat was missing, either lost in the library or forgotten in the room somewhere. It didn't matter; since there was no way I could see his face.
Before long, he had finished. It normally wasn't like him to this, because not only did it creep me out a little, but his history of hatred for physical contact just didn't fit with what just happened. I blinked, expecting him back away after he was done. Instead, he stayed put, observing his work. I lifted a hand to see what he had done as well, feeling along the cu
t only to find that it had ceased it bleeding completely and the pain, while still there, and was fading away at an alarming rate.
I smiled in thanks, wondering if he could even see it. Although the pain became more of numb ache, there was no way to fix the lightheadedness that accompanied the blood already lost. I sighed, mentally furthering my point.
Suddenly, two clawed hands were on the sides of my face, pulling me forward. I froze in surprise when I felt his tongue glide over the bloody handprints I had left on my cheeks. Placing my own hands on his, I tried to pry them away. "Thanks, but…it's really not…" My words were lost when he pulled me a little more forcibly, this time licking directly over my open mouth.
I sputtered, doing my best to lean back. "Ok, we are not repeating this-" Cut off again by another lick. Only this time, his tongue came dangerously close to getting inside my mouth.
Torn between either cursing him to hell or lashing out, so I did a bit of both. Using the most force I could muster, I pushed his shoulders until he let me go willingly, all while calling out the vilest words that I could think of. Scooting back a bit, I rubbed my face furiously. I would kill for a wet wipe right now.
Although I couldn't see him, he was definitely annoyed, either because he didn't get to finish or he didn't like the name calling. Ok, so maybe 'fucking stupid ass cannibal' was a bit harsh. It still doesn't excuse him for invading my personal bubble. Now that I think of it, why didn't I push him away the first time? And why did he even want to help anyway?
A fleeting thought came to mind, and I lifted up a finger, one still caked with dried blood. Did it taste good to him? Without thinking, I stuck the finger in my mouth, immediately regretting it and spitting it out again. Somewhere in the dark, I heard Aaron make an amused grumble.
I sighed. "I think the blood loss is getting to me" To better prove my point, a spike rushed my head and I laid back. I heard him scuffle closer, crouching near me. The floor was so cold, but I was so tired. My breathing was getting slower and slower.
"Hey, Aaron"
Too tired to snap my fingers, I called for him. The Leaper responded with a dull 'hmph'. I patted the floor besides me, "lie down and be a good little pillow." It was quiet for a moment, then the air filled with the sound of his laughter. The sound was contagious, allowing a smile to crawl on my own face as well. But what truly amazed me is that his laughter sounded human. Not sick, not animalistic, not even like he had a sore throat, but his laugh was purely human.
My smile vanished. He isn't human, he's an infected. Keep it straight, Sara.
Rolling my eyes, I turned over to my side, moaning as I did so. My eyes panged even while closed and I found it getting increasingly difficult to stay awake. Yawning, I curled up on the floor, clutching the fabric of my shirt. I bet I could take it off and use it as a pillow, sleeping clad in my Heavy top would be just fine with me. But then I remembered how cold the metal was, and how badly the shirt needed a wash. I didn't want to wake up and have the shirt glued to my hair.
Firm warmth pressed on my back and I felt a limb weave itself underneath my head, mindful of the claws. I bit my lip, memories coming back to me. Fuck it.
Instead of catapulting away like a sane person would of, I merely rotated to face the source of warmth and buried deeper into him. The Leaper remained still as a statue, unaffected. His arm made a pretty good pillow, I thought. And like before, he's a portable heater. This wasn't as different from the night spent in the truck, only I remember myself being not as hungry.
I faintly remember being pulled closer as I slipped into sleep.
Walking Bodies Page 24