Moonlit Retribution

Chapter One

Okay, here goes my first attempt at posting original fiction anywhere. This is basically my little "testing the waters" project; I know my friends like my writing, but they're kind of obligated to like it, or at least say they do. I want to see what other people think of it. I may or may not post more of this, depending on the feedback I get. I don't like posting stuff that people don't like. This is last year's NaNoWriMo project, which is probably why it sounds so frenzied and rushed. Also, I cannot claim ownership to the basic idea of the story--that goes to my two best buds as well as myself.

Warning: Excessive swearing throughout, as well as violence.

"Son of a bitch!" I hiss when I slice my ankle with the dull edge of my razor. I drop the traitorous item onto the wet tile of the shower and watch as a thin stream of blood seeps down the drain. The rich, pungent odor wafts to my nostrils, making me gag slightly. My heart skips a beatwhen I realize I have left the window open. They might smell me.

I hastily finish with my cleansing ritual and carefully hop out of the shower to avoid slipping and giving myself yet another targeting injury. I cross the measly three steps to the tiny section of window that Andy allows for ventilation purposes in the three and a half bathrooms. With slippery fingers, I slam the pane down as quickly and quietly as physically possible. Breath shuddering out of my chest, I search the landscape beyond the reinforced glass. All I see is fog hanging in low, clingy wisps to the thick forest of pines, glittering with frost in the light of the waxing moon. No movements from the shadows. No creaky, desperate cries of hunger. I sigh, relieved with the knowledge that, for now, I'm safe. I don't know why I've been so jumpy lately; everyone knows that they can only come out on a new moon, but...well, paranoia has always been an issue of mine. That, and what's currently being held in the basement has made all of us twitchy.

After toweling myself off, I take another glance at my ankle. The little slice isn't all that deep, and the blood has already stopped leaking. I'd give it an hour or so before I couldn't even tell it had been there. Such is the beauty of Mella's work. Or unpleasantness. Whichever way one wants to look at it.

I return to the tiny shower cubicle, retrieve my razor, and rinse off as much of the gore as I can. Andy says that those things can pick up the slightest scent of blood from miles away, like sharks. I never argue with his precautions. I've seen what those creatures can do first-hand. I can still feel the old wounds if I focus hard enough. Now that I'm "working" for Andy and his crew, I don't see the carnage as much, but I know the threat hasn't left.

I decide that my legs will remain a forest from now on.

I dress in my standard after-hour ensemble of black sweatpants and like-colored long sleeved t-shirt, tie my hair into a loose ponytail, and cross the bland, thinly populated mess hall towards the few holding cells we've been able to maintain for the past few years.

A bizarre concoction of giddy anticipation and apprehension bubbles up in my stomach. I force it away, blaming it on my recent insatiable hunger for all things fleshy and protein-based. At the thought, my mouth begins to water, and my stomach clenches furiously in anticipation for a meal. Maybe I shouldn't have skipped lunch...

Ugh, anyway, back to why I'm feeling the way I am (even if it is just hunger...). Andy and Ríjez managed to pull in one of those things earlier this afternoon, and it hasn't outwardly attacked any of us yet (the key word in this operation), so they're all fixed up to send the brains down to check the thing out and maybe do some much-needed studying.

The whole thing has me confused, since we had always thought that they only turned rotted and crusty looking on the new moon. Apparently, either this has never been the case, or dead things have learned to evolve.