The Birth of Death

Chapter Five

"We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict." Jim Morrison

Hysteria had finally worked it's way into her system as she stumbled down the abandoned streets of Queens; cars were over turned, fires were lit in building and newspapers littered the ground and the air as a hot gale from the explosions lifted them from the streets and into the air. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and let tears streak down her face as she tried not to hyperventilate. She didn't know where to go, she had no one left to protect her, nothing to protect herself with; it wouldn't have mattered though, she had never shot a gun in her life, the perks of being a New York citizen, the only people who owned guns were the police, gangs or avid hunters and her father was none of those people.

By now she had made it several blocks away from the subway station and she could no longer hear the torchured screams of people being turned. When she came to this realization she stopped and dropped to her knees, her grief turning into screams of her own. She didn't know how long she sat there and cried into the burning sky, but it was long enough for attention to be drawn to herself.

Another scream, a more familiar cry, was heard at the end of the street, followed by two more identical to it. The sound caused Loral to hush and her blood to chill as she looked up and saw three deformed silhouettes of people stumbling towards her. Slowly, she stood up from where she had been crouching and took a step back, then another, and another. Finally she turned and ran down the street, her scream ripping through her throat once more. The infected chattered to each other and then took up on the chase, having found a healthy host for the plague.

Loral didn't know the burrow of Queens, never been there, never needed to, and had no idea how to navigate in that part of New York. The only thing on her mind was to get as far away from the infected as possible, so she ran in a straight line down the street. She jumped over obstacles that lay in her way, tires, trash, and one body. Soon, however, she found herself in an ally that lead to a dead end and there was no way out; the only possible way, that she could see, was to go straight into the bloody arms of the infected. She stood there like a cornered animal, arms out and trembling as despair settled into her heart.

When she though she would be caught and turned, her silent prayer had been answered; a black and white creature suddenly appeared in front of her, hair raised and a growl growing in his chest as he bared his teeth at the infected. Confused, they stopped and stared at the dog, squawking and chittering at the creature, not knowing if it could be turned. Fascinated by the scene, Loral didn't notice that a hand was reaching out of a side ally and snatched her arm.

"Sh," the hand hushed her when she went to scream. She couldn't see the owner of the hand for the passage was too dark but she could see the glint in its eyes. "This way." he pulled her into the small space and the two raced down the path in a side ways manner until they reached an opening that lead to another main street.

By now, Loral saw that her savior was male, around the same age as her with blonde hair that reached his dark eyebrows. His eyes were the color of freshly watered grass but they held a dullness in them as if he had seen more hardships than good.

"Dog!" he called, his hands cupped around his mouth.

"Who are you?" Loral asked, her voice shaking uncontrollably from her close encounter and from the sight of the large gun strapped to his back.

"I'm the one who just saved you." he said in a flat, matter of fact tone, "Dog!"

"I mean, what's your name?" her voice getting stronger as the shaggy dog burst out of the ally.