EleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanora—
The name ran through his head with every step. It was all he was focused on, all he could think about was that name, and the person attached to it. He wasn't paying any attention to his surroundings, moving as fast as he could; his legs little more than a blur—upstairs, first class sections, second class sections, deck, downstairs, getting to the third class…
By this time, the reanimated corpses had flooded into the second class and were steadily advancing towards the first class. The crew—or what was remaining of the crew—locked the doors so that no one from the third and second classes could leave, despite their many protestations and panicked screams.
"Sir," one crewman asked, "are you sure about this? Letting all of these people die?"
"We have no choice," the other one said grimly. "If we let them out, there'll be more panic in the first class, plus some more of those horrible undead things."
The first crewman bit his lip and looked in pity at the begging people on the other side of the door. Both of them turned to leave when the first one stopped again.
"Wait. Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" the second man said and paused. Yes, in the distance, he could hear something…Someone...
"ra…nora…eanora…Eleanora…"
"It sounds like…Eleanora…"
"But who the hell is Eleanora?"
Meanwhile, the person who was shouting seemed to be coming closer, and then a man in a tailcoat appeared, running like mad towards them, and repeating over and over to himself,
"ELEANORAELEANORAELEANORAELEANORAELEANORAELEANORAELEANORA—"
"Wait! Stop! If you keep going, you'll run into the bars—"
But the man either didn't hear him, or he didn't care, because he just kept running, and didn't even slow down when he reached the barred door. The people on the other side wisely stepped aside for him, because as soon as he reached the bars, he just tore through them, as if he was running through a door made of wet paper.
And as soon as the barred door had been broken, everyone who had been on the other side immediately started streaming out.
But Sebastian didn't care.
EleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanoraEleanora—
Down the stairs, through several hallways, step on several zombies' heads on the way, room 663, room 664, room 665, room 666—here!
He stopped in front of the third class room—no one else had wanted that particular room number, which was odd, as that was the luckiest unholy number of all—and kicked the door down.
"ELEANORA!"
The room was absolutely trashed. The clothes that had been in the suitcases were scattered all over the floor. The suitcases themselves had been torn apart—no, not torn—blasted. The walls were riddled with bullet holes.
And Eleanora was lying on the floor, face-down, a broken gun next to her lifeless body.
Sebastian collapsed to his knees.
"El—" he started and swallowed hard. "El-Eleanora?"
His hands—normally so steady and reliable—trembled as he gently picked her up.
"Eleanora?" he whispered and turned her face so that he could look at it.
Her mouth was unnaturally wide with too-big teeth. Her skin had lost its nice softness and her eyes were blindfolded.
Sebastian dropped the corpse and stood up. The corpse's body was also filled with bullet holes, and there was one in the back of its head. So Eleanora must have shot and killed it while it was chewing on her gun.
He began looking around the room, this time thoroughly. Her nightgown was lying on the floor and some of her clothes were missing, as well as all of the weapons that she had stubbornly insisted on bringing. He had told her not to when they were packing—he had said that they wouldn't be needed, but she had brought them anyway. So she had been right
The relief that she was still alive had improved his stomach, but now he felt it disappearing again, as if it had been replaced by a bottomless pit.
"Eleanora?" he whispered. "Eleanora?"
He picked up her nightgown and pressed it against his face. It was cold—which meant that she had changed and left the room a while ago.
Which meant that she was probably no longer in third class.
Which meant that she was probably wandering around the ship which was swarming with the walking dead.
"Oh Lord," he whispered and staggered to his feet again. "Oh Lord…"
"One day, something really bad will happen, and then you'll see that I was right all along…"
"Eleanora?" he whispered, dropping the nightgown. "Sweetheart?"
"…but by the time that happens…"
"Eleanora? Darling? My dearest?" He moved to the door.
"…I'll be gone forever…"
"Eleanora. Eleanora. Eleanora!"
"…and you'll never see me again."
"ELEANORA!" he screamed and ran out of the room, kicking down every closed door he could find before moving on to the next one. "Eleanora? Eleanora? Eleanora? Where are you! Come on, sweetheart; come on, darling; please come out; I swear I'll never do anything to you ever again; just please, please, please be alive…"
There was a sudden jolt and Sebastian was knocked off-balance.
"What was that?" he thought and looked up into a window, just to see a massive white thing crunch by the ship, slicing it open. "Oh, wonderful. Just what I needed."
"The young Master."
Sebastian couldn't help it; he swore and rose to his feet and ran to go and see if the little brat needed some help, which he almost certainly did.
"I'll get Eleanora later," he thought, the pit in his stomach being replaced by guilt. "She'll be fine. She has a gun. And she's competent, which is more than what I could say for the young Master. She'll be fine. She'll be just fine."
"For the love of the Lord, Eleanora, please be fine."