Virulence Immune

~ Chapter Twenty-Six ~

Perri lurched forward and sunk her teeth into his throat.

She didn't layup until the masculine infected released her and staggered away, groping at the gaping hole in his gullet.

Not bothering to allow herself a single moments rest, Perri stalked after him and with one hand she grabbed his decrepit shirt and with the other, she shoved her hand into his throat.

Grabbing a handful of the fleshy insides of his oesophagus, she yanked her hand right back out. Felling the beast.

As his arms dropped to his sides and his knees bent, the masculine infected collapsed to the ground with a thud.

The other infected remained still and un-moving.

Every one of the soldiers and the survivors were watching in horror.

Perri took a few heavy-footed steps over some dead bodies to reclaim her tomahawk.

As she turned back to the crowd of infected, she glanced at the bus. But she didn't look at the occupants.

It was like they didn't even exist.

Something on her face told them that maybe it was a good thing.

The look she had on her bloodstained face was not human.

Once she had the infected in her sights, she started into a run without a single hint of the pain she should be in. Nor the fear that any normal person would have when faced with an army of dead and nothing but an axe for protection.

The infected recoiled at her sudden sprint, before they seem to switch back on and rush toward her.

Perri disappeared into the crowd, unable to be seen by those on the bus.

After a short while, the fighting began to slow until it finally ceased, with the remaining infected refusing to advance.

Instead, the last of the infected back away from Perri to a certain distance before they all turn-tail and run off—vanishing into the shadows of buildings and alleys.

The atmosphere grew quiet and a simple breeze rolled by.

Perri only panted and remained standing in the sea of downed corpses.

The soldiers and survivors slowly exited the bus and moved to the open area where the body of the masculine infected rested motionless.

Perri was several meters ahead of them. She winced as she slowly turned her head their way.

She wasn't looking too good. Her skin was pale beneath the blood that nearly coated every inch of her face.

Walking seemed like a lot of effort when she made her way toward the group. She had to brace a hand on the vehicle beside her.

Then, her shoulders curved inward as she clutched her stomach and pressed her lips together tightly. She barely managed to suppress the bile, and God only knows what else, that was forcing its way up the back of the throat.

Her body was against her.

Perri collapsed to her hands and knees, then with a horrid sound, she began to vomit.

Luckily, she was concealed behind the vehicle and the others couldn't see all the blood and flesh chunks—she'd consumed during the onslaught—that were now pooling on the ground in front of her.

Jack was the one to approach her. Though, warily at first, leaving a good few feet between them.

"Perri?" Was all he could achieve while hiding the shakiness in his voice.

Perri swallowed and wiped her chin. "I'm okay." She said hoarsely, her throat burned with every syllable. She used the car to help herself get back up to her feet before moving around the bonnet toward Jack.

He could see how wobbly she was as she walked.

Perri had managed to close the gap between them, but with her last step, her knees buckled and her eyes rolled back in her skull.

She threw an arm out in the direction of the car behind her to try and catch herself as she felt herself falling backward.

Not that it really mattered, by the time she would eat dirt, she'd be unconscious.

Or dead.

Her vision was already fading into darkness.

Into the comfort of the cold embrace that only the eternal black could offer.