Zombies Vs Aliens: Respawn

Chapter 20.1

She spun past me, arms arched over her head. Her face was turned inward, causing strands of honey colored hair to fall in a gossamer curtain covering her features. The sundress was cornflower blue, her favorite, and the same startling color of her eyes. She circled around me, the dress flaring out around her, dappled by the sunlight streaming through the leaves. Watching her was peaceful and perfect. A text book picnic spread out around me , right down to the red and white checkered cloth and old school wooden basket she'd picked up for a buck at a garage sale. The twirling came to a stop, those brilliant blue eyes on me, pinning me in place.

The air turned grainy, crackling and fizzing, her blue eyes the only thing anchoring me in place. They held me as sterile white walls replaced sun drenched trees. The idyllic picnic melted into beeping machines, dripping I.V.s and starched white blankets. She didn't wear blue anymore. A bland patterned hospital gown hung off her too thin frame. Tubes fed into her arms. Her honey colored hair was gone, reduced to the fine wisp of newborn babies. Her powdery paper white skin sported a tracery of blue veins, straight through to her hand wrapped in mine. Only her eyes were the same, so big, that perfect deep blue, watching me. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead.

Screams started up in the hallway outside. Another disaster? The world was falling to shit lately. The news was worse every night. Wasn't worth turning on the T.V. anymore. The screaming grew louder, coupled with the sound of footsteps running, shoes squeaking, and the thud of flesh on linoleum. It wasn't normal screams of pain, but high pitched panic, cries of fear. Her blue eyes flickered to the door as her chest heaved in quick pants, the fear spreading, taking hold. I gently squeezed her hand, slipping away to check outside. Where the hell is hospital security? Why aren't they doing their damn jobs?

I step out into a massacre. The lights flicker over the gory scene. Blood spatters high, spraying the walls. My foot slips. I land on my knees and elbows, nearly on top of a nurse with half her face torn off. She's still alive, choking on her own blood, her mouth opening and closing without sound. She can't scream with the entire front of her throat missing. I crab crawl backward, gasping when my retreat is blocked by the body of a young man. No not a body, just his torso. His intestines spill across the floor in a horrifying tripwire.

I am too terrified to scream, hyperventilating in short shallow gasps. The smell of spilled organs floods my mouth with saliva as I try not to throw up the four cups of coffee sitting sour in my belly. There are more terrified screams both up and down the hall, accompanied by wet tearing sounds, and sharp splintering cracks. I crawl back into the hospital room, trailing blood and gore.

Her blue eyes widened, as her fingers tightened on the blanket, dragging it up to cover herself, like it could shield her. My mind is spinning, trying to figure out what the hell is happening. How am I going to get us out of here? Something thumps against the door at my back.

She screams, a short small cry before she claps her shaking hand over her mouth. It's too little, too late. The thump comes again, harder, more insistent, strong enough to make me jolt forward. I scrabbled for my chair, dragging it to me to brace against the door. The plastic bends with each thump. It isn't going to hold for long. I scramble onto the bed, trying to unhook her from the mess of tubes and monitoring wires holding her in place, a fly in caught in a sick-bed web. Her hands push mine away, grabbing my wrists.

"Save yourself," she rasps.

There is no saving either of us. The chair buckles, snapping away from the door as it crashes open. He stands in the doorway, a dead man. The stink of his rot burns my nose, makes my eyes water. He was older, salt and pepper hair crusted and stuck up in messy spikes. A businessman still clad in the torn and bloody suit he died in. A gaping bullet wound told the story of his death, marring his once crisp white shirt. Fresh blood drips off his face in red rivulets. Milky eyes stare at me, both sightless and intent. He makes no sound, no moans or groans to announce his presence. There is only movement, and he is a fast son of bitch. He's on me before I can get off the bed, grabbing me from behind.

Teeth sink into my shoulder, tearing. I can see his head thrashing in the corner of my eye, the teeth digging deeper, scraping flesh from bone. The pain is so intense it goes cold. This time, I do scream, so hard the sound rips my throat raw. He jerks off me, releasing me as he pulls back, taking a chunk of my shoulder in his mouth. The blood is hot against my numb skin, thawing it out. Pain makes my vision go gray as I stumble away, covering the wound with my good hand, trying to clasp the pain tight so it can't wriggle away from me. I slump against the wall, sweat beading my forehead, turning back to the bed.

She's pinned the monster down, wrapping the wires and tubes around his neck while he jerks and snaps like a rabid dog. She's so weak. Any second now, he's going to over power her and tear into her.

"Go! Run!" She screams at me. Those blue eyes are full of sadness and acceptance. I shove away from the wall, breathing hard through my teeth as shock sets in. Lightheaded, slipping in my own blood, I trip out into the hall, back into the madness. The woman with the gaping throat has died. Her eyes are slowly turning milky. Her body gives a twitch. I need to move. The stairwell is close by. I turn, and nearly go down when a hand snatches my ankle. The other corpse, nothing more than a head and torso with one working arm is moving, snatching at me. I kick him off, forcing myself to move faster. I fall against the stairwell door, using my weight to push it open. Blood is still seeping through my fingers, too much blood. I need to tie it off, do something to staunch the flow. I can feel my life trickling down my arm, pooling on the floor at my feet. In the stair, there are two choices, up or down. The roof has no exit, it's a trap, a guaranteed death zone. I lean heavily against the wall, feebly trying to tear a strip off my t-shirt. The fabric keeps slipping through my blood slicked fingers. Tears blur my vision. I finally lift the hem to my mouth, using my teeth to rip the material. I can taste my own blood, leaving a metallic taint on my tongue.

Tying the knot is another exercise in frustration, as I try to tighten and tie off with one slippery hand. It takes several precious minutes but I hear less screams now. I desperately try not to think of the room I just left. I try not to think of how long she held out before her weakened body gave out. I reach for the railing, leaning on it to stay upright. Each step sends another searing stab up through my shoulder. I make it down to the first landing before my legs give out, leaving me sprawled on the floor. I am so tired.

I lie on the floor, trying to summon the strength to keep moving, to live. It hurts so much to move. Lying still is tolerable. I'll close my eyes, rest for a second. Just for a second.

My eyes snapped open. The blurred room slowly settles into a canvas tent. Sunlight glows through the ceiling. The air is fresh, with a hint of hospital chemicals. I am lying flat on my back, beneath a scratchy white blanket pulled up to my chest. I am also, miraculously, wearing someone's flannel button up rather than the filth crusted clothes I...what happened to me?

There are other sounds in the room. I hear chewing, loud chewing, with intermittent snaps. There's a blowing sound. I lift my head in time to see a monstrous pink bubble a second before it hits its inflation limit and pops. The deflated sack falls over Princess's chin which she yanks back into her mouth with a flick of her tongue. She notices I'm watching her.

"Welcome back, Sunshine." She returns to perusing a sizeable collection of nail polish bottles set out in neat rows in front of her. "You had a nice little nap there. Been out for nearly three days. Silly girl."

I sit straight up. "What? Did you say nap? I was sleeping? Just sleeping?"

Princess arches an eyebrow at me. "Oh, did I forget to mention? We do need sleep in these new forms. Not as often, not for long, but if you don't cat nap here and there, well, you crash. Lesson learned?" She batted her lashes at me, pulling a sparkly silver number from the polish selection. "Ooo, Not-So-Quiet Riot. I do like me some glitter."

"I hate you," I hissed at her. My hands twitched to throttle her. If I wasn't so freaking relieved to be alive I would be. Her legs are bare, fishnets and boots tucked under her chair. Her toe nails are ten different colors with intricate little patterns on each one. She's been here a while.

She ignored me, giving the bottle a couple good shakes. "So, cupcake, did dream it?"

I stilled. I knew what she was asking me, but I needed to hear it. I was sick of how much she kept to herself, especially after I spent the last couple days expecting to die again.

"Dream what?" I asked her through my teeth. She looked up, utterly unimpressed, but after studying my expression for a moment the tension flooded out of her shoulders.

"Did you dream your death?"