So the premise of this fic:
a) I ship these two so hard it hurts.
b) Most things are better with zombies (in fiction, anyway).
I am working on a bunch of more canon-esque stuff for these girls, but – I have too many feels, way too many, that are just untameable right now. So this is a kind of filler way of writing about Lorikki without actually having to address anything in a vaguely meaningful way. But I really don't know if anyone wants to read this shit, so – review. Yeah. Please. My shipper heart is broken, and I'm out on a zombie limb and I don't know why.
They're both late. Shit. Lorraine's been turning up mid-morning to avoid her, she knows. And why not? Lorraine, as she's proven, can do whatever she wants, and what she wants at this point is obviously not to see Nikki.
Tough luck, though. Because there's no way they can avoid each other now.
"Morning" Nikki says, artfully neutral, not smiling, not clipped. She closes her car door the same way, careless, but quietly, softly.
Lorraine slams her own door and swings her designer bag over her shoulder all in one motion. "You're late."
"Yeah." Nikki agrees. She is, and it's not like her, but it's not really Lorraine's business anymore, either. Except that Lorraine's still kind of her boss. Shit.
She wants to say, you're late too, but you can't say that to someone that's just your boss. She wants to know where Lorraine's been this morning, because she knows the blonde woke up, cold, at 6.30 exactly whether she planned to or not. She wants to tell Lorraine where she's been this morning. Where she was last night. What she was doing, who she was with. Most of all, wants to tell her that it wasn't as good.
"Yvonne's taking the PRU kids to geography, and Tom's been through the new senior class lists with Michael, so everything's in hand." is what she actually says. Because she can't stop trying to make Lorraine comfortable, even now.
To be fair, Lorraine looks anything but comfortable. "Right. No, I didn't doubt that."
Silence. Thick, heavy. Hanging.
They never really talked, much.
Fifteen seconds later – she counts – they make some kind of silent, mutual decision. Nikki shoves her hands too roughly in her pockets, Lorraine whips out her phone and eyes it with forced disinterest, and they start for school side by side.
Lorraine doesn't even look up as they approach the doors, and Nikki has to push one open for her at the last minute to stop her going straight into the glass. She's stubborn, leaves the familiar move too late, so the smaller woman ends up walking under her outstretched arm. Nikki's hand skims just past her back as she passes, almost accidental affection.
She hangs back. They're probably heading the same way, the staff room, Michael's office, and it's too difficult to choreograph a friendly, professional walk the whole way. Lorraine and that damn phone. Long, deliberately devil-may-care blonde locks. Pale lacy top, dark cropped trousers. Heels, yes. No. No, hanging back and looking at her isn't going to work, either.
Her longer strides mean she catches up quickly, her boot heels clacking in time with Lorraine's stilettos, ringing in the quiet corridor.
Quiet. Really quiet. She'd been aiming to get in and park before break, but there should be study periods, kids with hall passes, someone causing trouble somewhere. She's so busy scanning for some sign of life that she piles into Lorraine, hard, before she realises the other woman has stopped. And she's not looking at her phone, now. Nikki's arm goes automatically around her waist as she stumbles forward, and she hears, feels, Lorraine's sharp breath in. But she's still staring at the opposite wall. Nikki's eyes follow hers, and oh.
Oh.
There's a pattern of what looks like blood, twisting and twirling up the wall, some dark and crusted, some still red and raw. There's a handprint in it. There are five thin red lines, like fingernails scraping, maybe. Something, a fist-sized mass on the floor, wet and brown and dribbling gently.
"Nik" Lorraine breathes.
"Yeah" Nikki murmurs back.
There's a bang from behind them, somewhere between them and the doors. Nikki doesn't think. Army search-and-evade, protect-the-principal, training, experience kicks in. Her arm tightens around Lorraine and she pulls them backwards, pushing on a classroom door with her other arm, shoving Lorraine down behind the desk as she takes in their new surroundings. Empty, check. Windows closed, check. Secure – she springs back to the door and locks it deftly, swinging a chair up under the handle just in case.
In case what, though? Bloodstains – could they have been blood? A noise, could have been anything.
Ketchup stains. Drama production. An unfortunate accident.
Her heart is beating too fast, breath short, palms clammy. Is this just a whole new level of mutual delusion between her and Lorraine? Isn't that frightening enough?
Lorraine whimpers.
The sound is so unlike her that Nikki spins, trying to pinpoint it, before her eyes settle on her ex-girlfriend, still behind the teacher's desk, raised onto all fours. Nikki moves back around the desk, crouching low, holding her hands out to the blonde. Because right now, they're both afraid, and that's all she knows for sure.
Lorraine doesn't move, muscles in her arms trembling with the effort of holding her up. Still whimpering, lush lower lip trembling. One tear strokes her cheek, and Nikki leans forward to brush it away. Her hand is only an inch from Lorraine's face when she sees it, from the corner of one eye. A body, right beside the desk, half-under it.
It looks huge beside Lorraine's petite frame, menacing, and Nikki moves around her, grabbing her waist again, pulling the smaller woman backwards into her lap. Leaning closer, she can see that the figure is podgy, distended. Lorraine's whimpers have descended into hopeless little moans, and Nikki can see why, as she glimpses the guts spilling from its stomach. She pushes Lorraine behind her, back to the wall, and ducks under the desk, where the figure's head is.
Mr Simms. One of the maths teachers they'd poached from Havelock. It jars her, yes – this is a school, not a battlefield, she'd liked him, he brought in biscuits his wife made – but she's seen enough dead bodies that her breakfast stays down. She reaches out a hand, extends one index finger to touch the wound on his lower stomach, and shudders delicately. Soft, squishy, still gently throbbing. Not a drama production, not ketchup stains. She knows death, once knew it well, and this is it.
Another bang, closer this time.
She flings herself back at the wall, next to Lorraine, heaving, gasping for breath. They're holding hands, tight, Lorraine's little fingernails drawing blood on her palm, and she doesn't know who reached for who, but they both look across at the same time, too. Their eyes lock, and tears are running freely down Lorraine's cheeks, dripping off her chin onto her expensive shirt, and everything in her face is trembling. Nikki reaches for her knee, turning them towards each other, creating a private world.
"Lorraine" she starts, then stops.
"Nikki" the blonde whispers back, her voice shaking.
"We're going to get out of here. We're going to just make our way to the doors, carefully, and then we're going to get out, and phone the police, and they're going to sort this, whatever this is, and we're going to be fine. Okay?"
Another whimper, then "Nikki"
"Darling, I need you to keep it together, okay?" Nikki's grip on her knee tightens. "Okay?"
She's staring intently at Lorraine when she hears it. A low, throaty moan. Raw. Raspy. But her eyes are still fixed on the blonde's face, and her mouth hasn't moved. Still doesn't move. Except her eyes widen in her still face, and then slide sideways. Towards the body.
Nikki's eyes follow hers an instant later, and the body's not a body anymore. Mr. Simms is sat up, and now she can see that the top of his skull is missing, mess leaking from his head as well as the gaping wound in his stomach. Instinctively, she lifts her arm across Lorraine, and when the other woman grabs onto it with both hands, hard enough to hurt, Nikki's training kicks in again. Protect her. Move. Now.
She lurches forward, kicking her leg to avoid the dead teacher's grip, and grabs the top of the desk, bringing it crashing down over him, making a barrier. Lorraine, still attached to her arm, gets pulled upright by the motion, and Nikki swings her round, pushing her towards the door first. Chair out of the way, lock unlocked, back out into the corridor facing that bloodied wall, and running.
Lorraine's fast, even in her heels, and they're covering ground, slipping, stumbling, but they're back at the doors inside of a minute, hand in hand, breath barely catching. Nikki feels a rush of oxygen, adrenaline hit and slams her shoulder against the door, already dragging Lorraine forward, crying, almost laughing.
It doesn't give.
The sick laugh catches in her throat.
Somewhere, in another part of the school, further in than they've been, maybe over by the labs, someone screams.
Somewhere closer, behind them, another gurgling, rasping moan. Two. A chorus, four, five voices. Coming from all sides. Desperate to reach the doors, she's left them defenceless, in the open.
"Sonya" Lorraine whispers, and it takes Nikki a second to make the connection. The scream. For the first time, Lorraine drops her hand, staring in the direction of the sound, choking off a sob.
Leaving it to Nikki to close her eyes, even though it's a mistake. To turn a full half-circle, much more slowly than she should. To breathe in, even though she's sure nothing can prepare her for whatever's making that noise, those noises, nothing.
She opens her eyes.