Schlattbur Oneshots

The River of Horrors - (18+) (pt 4)

"Last to find a human makes dinner for tonight!"

And then they jump off the ledge, skidding down the slope and running into the disaster of a town.

When the two enter the vicinity of the town, before them the streets split up into 3 directions; left, right, and forward. Connor calls out to him, signalling that he's taking left, and so naturally, Schlatt signals right.

Thrusting his legs forward, Connor finds himself racing through the hollow streets of the town, leaping over clusters of rubbish and shattered glass scattered out on the pathway. Oblivious to the knowledge that he's probably being a little too exuberant given their current situation, he keeps a keen eye out for any signs of life. After all, he hates cooking dinner. He can't really remember the last time he cooked an acceptable meal.

Though even if he did end up losing the challenge, a fraction of him doubts that the others will even let him cook. Considering the last time he did... he blew up the kitchen.

"Well at least I know you can't put aluminium foil in the microwave, now," Connor mutters to himself under his breath, with light panting intertwined between the words he formulates.

As he mumbles, he slips over a piece of trash, skidding across the pavement until his face comes in contact with the first physical object in his path — in this case, that 'physical object' being a half-broken light post. His legs giving out below him, he half-yells and half-groans out, rubbing his forehead. Outlines of a light bruise already begins to form on him.

"Jesus... Motherfucking... Christ that hurt!" he stumbles back up, muttering more curses before continuing his mission. Running through the endless town's aisles, he turns left, then right, and then left again, straight forward... Until he has absolutely no idea where he's going.

Every time he'd turn a corner, whatever would lay before him on the pathway ahead would look almost identical to the last. Every single one of them, littered with trash and still suffused with the same lifelessness in the dead, heavy air. All the while his eyes never focused on the direct path ahead; instead, he'd be looking left and right, keeping a sharp eye out on his surroundings. There could be somebody — anybody — hiding beneath the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce onto an uninfected human and eat them alive.

For the first time, the mortifying realisation flitters across his consciousness, and he only just now recognises how terrifying their situation is. And how vulnerable they are.

They hadn't bought any weapons of any sort with them — in fact, it didn't even come across their mind that they'd need weapons.

Connor assumed that the virus only infected less than 1% of the population, considering the statistics. And kids had a higher death toll than adults, too. So he figured he was completely safe.

But judging by the ghost town he's found himself running along in, something tells him that if a cannibal were to show up, they're not going to be too picky on what age their victim is.

He swallows, compunctious feelings of apprehension arising in the depths of his timid-tangled stomach. He slows down. Oh god. They could show up anywhere, at any second. They're going to eat me alive. Those monsters won't waste a second if it means I'll get away with it. I'm fucked.

Escaping the alleyway, he runs out into the middle of a 4-way street.

We're fucked! We're right out in the middle of the open on its feeding grounds! We're—

He's cut short of his internal monologue as he crashes into something again — no, someone. To his relief, it's just Schlatt. Turns out they both ended up meeting back again.