The Dead Don't Bleed

Fight

His legs were beyond aching at this point and Keith finally collapsed on his hands and knees, lungs screaming for air as he gasped for breath for several minutes. A glance out of the corner of his eye told him that Chyra was doing the same, her breaths coming out in ragged pants.

Keith finally rolled over on his back, violet eyes meeting the sky as he tried to get his breathing back under control, he could still felt his heart thudding within his rib cage, the coolness of the cracked pavement under him soothing to his hot skin, the pack on his shoulders and the sheath to his blade digging painfully into his back.

God, he hated zombies, he hated the smell that seemed to linger on everything he owned after running into them and he wrinkled his nose in disgust when he caught a whiff of his own jacket smelling of death, blood and decay, gross. He hated it when they snuck up on him too, but to be completely honest, he hated the undead in general, heck he hated his life in general. Life sucked right now, so launching into a big, long list of what he hated really wouldn't benefit anyone.

Maybe when he finally died, he could escape what he hated, if he wasn't already damned to Hell.

"Char, is-" another pant, "-are you okay?" He said between breaths.

Chyra, didn't speak, and he furrowed his eyes at the sky before finally forcing himself by his elbows to a sitting position to look at his companion which currently had her back to him, black hair blowing in the lone gust of wind that whistled through them before the air grew still once again, just in time for him to hear her next word crystal clear.

"Keith." Her voice was small and cracked, and she shifted around to meet his gaze.

His eyes widened as he caught sight her fear-filled eyes, she was cradling her left arm and that was when Keith saw the blood.

Deep red rivets dripped agonizingly slow down dark skin, the wound itself looking red and angry. It didn't take a genius to guess what had happened, and something told him it wasn't from sharpened claws and jagged fingernails.

She'd been bit.

"Char," his voice wasn't working right, why wasn't it working right? "Char, you're- you're bleeding."

For some reason, his brain wasn't working right, and it had nothing to do with his sprint from near death either.

She'd been bit.

She's been bit?

No. God, please, no, not Chyra, not the girl that saved his life, not the one person that took him in when he'd lost everything. No, it couldn't be, he had to be seeing things he- he had to.

As childish as it was, Keith squeezed his eyes closed, giving cruel fate time to change its mind, he had to be seeing things, maybe it wasn't a bite mark, maybe it was something else, maybe he was just overreacting.

But when he opened them, the scene didn't change. She was still here, clutching a bloody forearm, fingers soaked in blood, and the look in her eyes when he looked was all he needed to know that it wasn't a trick of the sun.

He wasn't seeing things.

He wasn't imagining it.

Chyra had been bit.

The realization hit him in the chest like a pile of bricks.

No.

No.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

Please no, let it be something else, let him be seeing things, just please, please. It can't be- he couldn't-