Andy is purposely ignoring me, his wizened gaze focusing somewhere past my shoulder. It's moments like this when I swear an eight-year-old is more mature.
Sighing exasperatedly, Ríjez tells me that we should probably take the girl to the lab on the upper floor. I nod in agreement because it's cleaner up there, safer, and the cooler temperature would help mute the rotting flesh stench.
Unfortunately for me, as punishment for thoughtlessly putting my life on the line, Mella makes me carry the sack of stinking meat up there. Yep. I get penalized for saving someone's life at the expense of my own. Some days, I really feel that life hates me...
After said moving of the decaying body, I promptly flee to the bathroom (somehow, by means of what must be magical intervention, managing to not collide with people or walls) to puke my guts up and wash myself again.
I'm scheduled for tonight's watch along with Ríjez and Drew, so I try to wash off as much sickness-stink as possible...though it would probably help keep Drew's grimy hands off of me.
I remind myself that Ríjez is always there to look out for me, and try not to worry so much. Instead, I focus my thoughts toward the girl.
Like I said, I've seen plenty of these things in the past two years since the virus broke out, especially during the first few months after exposure. That was the worst, and even though we've taken down dozens of the things already, there are somehow always more. I have theories that they've found some way to breed and create more, but Mella gave me a speech filled with all kinds of medical mumbo-jumbo that basically boiled down to the simple statement of "dead people can't have sex, and therefore cannot reproduce."
That really didn't comfort me, and that little conversation gave me nightmares about those things doing the funky monkey for days.
Andy's right about one thing: I'm way too sensitive with certain things, which makes me think too much into the subject.
Shaking my head to clear my irksome thoughts, I don my fleece jacket, head to the weapons room to select my signature handgun, and wander upstairs. There's no direct route to the roof, so I clamber out of the only window that's not boarded up with twelve freakin' slabs of plywood and slowly make my way up the side of the ancient three-story Greek revival-style house via the pseudo ladder. As usual, the air has a somewhat acidic quality to it and feels grimy on its path down to my lungs.
Early on in this whole fiasco, our oh-so brilliant government officials decided that the only method of preventing disease was to kill everyone via nuclear weapons. Yeah. My I.Q. is probably below that of the average slug, and I'm pretty sure I could have come up with a better idea.
It's already well past midnight, so I'm likely to get a tongue lashing (possibly the threat of a literal one from Drew, the creeper...) for not showing up ASAP. 'Course, Ríjez might go a little easy on me since he at least knows where I've been and what I've been doing in that time. Plus, he's Ríjez: the guy's more easy going than a sloth, and (normally) just as harmless.
I still don't see why we need to stay out and guard at night. I mean, I know these things hunt at night and there's no such thing as being too safe, but we've got enough booby traps and tripwires around the place to confuse even the most dedicated puzzle solver. If a damn tree rustles the wrong way in the forest, the whole complex knows about it. I can't count how many times we've been pulled out of bed for false alarms.
The glass slides up with an obnoxious screech that makes my marrow quiver. Instantly, I am pummeled with a vicious blast of arctic wind that whips some of my hair out of its band and into my eyes. I know for a fact that the chill and blustery conditions could be worse, though. The giant pines surrounding the house deflect much of the wind.
"That you, kiddo?" Drew's voice, like grease, slithers into my head. My ears feel slimy just hearing his voice.
I ignore him, shuddering, and wordlessly haul myself up onto the roof. I take my place on the northern-most corner of the building, as far away from him as physically possible, as his laugh ripples eerily through the frigid night air.
"A little late, there, aren't ya? Had me worried. I was about to come get you myself." I can feel his grin, and the hairs on my neck stand on end.
Of all the people I've been forced to come into contact with since the epidemic, Drew is the worst--even worse than the flesh eating caricatures of humans that threaten to wipe the rest of us out, even worse than the creatures who condemned us to this existence in the first place. At least both of those things are open about what they do--they hunt you down, slaughter you, then eat you. As disturbing as it is, at least you know what they're up to. Drew, put plainly, is slimy, creepy eel whose motivations are lost on me. I do know, however, that he's got a serious appetite for all things...um...carnal. And he's not exactly reserved about that.
Honestly, the thing that aggeavates me the most is that he wouldn't even look my why if the circumstances were different. Drew's a pretty good-looking guy, and he's got that semi-sociopathic charm that can captivate many-a-woman's heart; because of this whole zombie situation, he's had to set his sights a lot lower. I am one of only two women in the whole complex, Mella being the other woman. And since Mella is about five inches taller than Drew and could probably tear his arms off and strangle him with the dismembered limbs if he made any unwanted gestures towards her, he has settled with me--the wiry, inexperienced teenager with more anxiety and self-consciousness swimming in her veins than the entire audience of a My Chemical Romance concert.
I hear clothing rustle and instantly know that Drew is on the move. I feel the warmth of his body as he settles behind me. My shoulders tense, and I quietly flick the safety of my gun off, just in case I grow a spine and decide to use it. Andy wouldn't appreciate losing a man, especially one as experienced and adaptable as Drew, but he'd probably revel in knowing that I'm not as much of a pushover as everyone thinks.
"Let the girl be, Drew," Ríjez's deep voice resonates through the air. I throw a thankful half-smile in his direction, even though it's a useless gesture in the dark. "She's had a long day."
Drew doesn't make any movement that suggests he's leaving my side. "Aww, is that true, sweetheart?" he drawls in what I suppose he thinks is a smooth, seductive tone.
His hands suddenly clamp down on my shoulders, his fingers digging into my flesh, making me jump and swallow the shriek that's been building in my throat. "So tense," he murmurs. "Here, let me help you with that." He begins to roughly kneads my shoulders, grinding his fingers in. I squeeze my eyes shut, panic thundering in my veins, icy tendrils of wind alerting me to the presence of cold sweat beading at my temple. The gun is a cold, useless chunk of metal in my hands.
Ríjez won't let anything happen to me...He'll keep me safe...He has to...
"Get off her, man," Ríjez growls. His voice is closer, thank God, and, as suddenly as they had come, Drew's fingers are wrenched from my person. My breath shudders out of me, and my heart slowly starts to drop down to a normal rate.
They're so close that I can see their hard expressions in the cold starlight, the thin crescent of the moon. Ríjez is glaring hellfire at Drew, who's casually leaning against the ledge of the roof with an amiable grin on his tanned face. The silence stretches, neither of them moving.
Terror trickles into me, because I know these two have never gotten along, and now they're all alone with only me to stop them from shooting each other. And both are aware that I'm just not the kind of person who can effectively calm a situation like this one.
After too many moments of tense silence, I'm about to turn back to the forest to maybe remind them of our duties when Drew finally shows sign of relenting. His companionable expression soon fades when he realizes that Ríjez isn't joking. In its place is a scowl that tightens his lips as he flicks his shaggy brown hair out of his equally dark eyes. He sends me a playful smirk, then turns to my PO.
"You know what, Ríjez? You ain't nothin' but a killjoy," Drew grumbles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his long coat, then ambles to his usual position facing the south side of the forest. I thank whatever deity there is that Drew's as much of a coward as he is a hound. Even so, I'm glad that Ríjez decides to stay by me.
The rest of the night goes by fairly uneventfully, but my body refuses to relax, even with the solid form of Ríjez near me. We stay silent for much of the night, as is usual, since we don't want to give the flesh eaters a reason to seek us out. It is for this reason that I almost jump out of my skin when Ríjez shoulders his shotgun and sidles up right next to me for a little chat.
"You know he only does this to get a rise outta you, right?" he says so quietly that I'm certain Drew is oblivious to his voice. "You make it too easy for him."
We're both still facing towards the trees, but when I clench my jaw together so tightly that my teeth grind, my companion is immediately alerted to my distress. He chuckles silently, more vibrating than anything, and says, "You need to start speaking up for yourself, kiddo. I'm not always gonna be here for ya."
A frown tugs at my lips. This isn't the first time he's said so. And, like usual, my insides freeze at the thought. I don't know what I would do without the man. If not for him, I wouldn't have made it a week into this ordeal.
I find my voice, a little too late for dramatic effect. "Don't call me kiddo," I mumble.
This time his laugh is audible, and I know this has caused Drew to swing a look in our direction just because he's attentive like that. "It's a start, I suppose," Ríjez chuckles.
A tiny grin threatens to give away my enjoyment of his teasing.
Then there's a crash, a scream, and our legs are switched to autopilot and the three of us are racing downstairs double-time. I clumsily scramble down the ladder, cursing my blurry near-sighted vision. Drew, who's taken the lead and has momentarily revoked his label as a coward, scoops me up and drops me to the base of the ladder without a lecherous comment.
It's then that fear truly snakes its way into my head. If Drew is taking this seriously, it's bad. Very bad.
Raucous screams and snarls are coming from the lab. My heart punches against my sternum as Drew and I flank Ríjez. My PO crashes through the door, and we all pile in single file, guns raised and ready.
Lurk's back is to us, so we can't see exactly what he's doing. He tosses us a frantic glance over his shoulder; sweat is poring down his wrinkled face. "Get out! Out! Nein, raus!" he shrieks in a garbled tone. Still wearing his protective suit, he's waving around what looks like the top of a metal trashcan, trying to ward off something.
Panic snaps into my brain and adrenaline shoots into my veins. I fist a handful of Drew and Ríjez's shirts and drag them out of the room; they're unprotected. As soon as they're out the door, I hit the emergency door panel button; since we almost always have combustible compounds in the lab, it would be stupid not to have a backup door to seal the place off. A thick plastic barrier erects itself between me and Lurk and the two men outside.
I turn back to the scene before me, not sure what to do, but knowing that something needs to be done. Without thinking, I shove the frantic German out of the way, level my gun at the girl and--
What the hell?