Kitana- I suppose I should say (now that this is the 32nd chapter) that I DO NOT OWN ANY OF RESIDENT EVIL CHARCHERS whatsoever!! However all characters that are mine are min ALONE!
Anyway on with the story and O MY GOD is this big or is this big!!!
Enjoy!!! ;o)
32
Claire closed the door and dragged herself to a chair. She settled down in it laying her head on the cool plastic surface of the table and sighed. Mike sat opposite her panting like a dog, they had ran down three flights eager to get away from anything that was in a form of a zombie or a commando. Luckily her drop in the vent saved her two flights, but she wasn't so great about it since her back was really aching.
Well everything was clear until level four came about. Every single zombie imaginable had to pop up at the same time that they were passing, and of course if that wasn't enough the light came on but with an Umbrella 'lock down'. Claire couldn't stop herself from swearing as the metal shutters covered up the glass. She also couldn't keep her anger in anymore and just went ballistic smashing the shutter in and in. It came to a point where Mike had to restrain and drag her down the stairs before the zombies took a chunk out of her.
Claire glanced at her hands, they were sore and her right was bleeding, she cursed unable to accept that everything wasn't going right. Ammo was fading and now with the 'lock down' was there anyway of escaping Umbrella's wrath? She didn't think so anymore, her luck was running out.
Mike looked up, "What's wrong?"
She held up her right hand, "This and that," she pointed at the door, which had a table flipped over to block anything from coming in. Time was getting short, she could hear them coming, dragging their virus infected bodies towards them.
He took her hand and examined it, "I can fix this, but," he glanced at the door, "but that is something we have to do."
She huffed, "But I'm just too tired and hungry to do anything," she faced him and he smiled.
"Well just look behind me."
She leant on her left side gazing at the back of the room, "No fucking way!" she gasped. She stood up as if something yanked her out of the seat. They were in the hospital's cafeteria, surrounded by food.
"But first we need to clean your wound."
"Yeah whatever," she mumbled unenthusiastically still staring at the covered up kitchen. He stood up still holding her hand and led her to the side door to the kitchen. He grabbed the knob and twisted…and twisted again.
"Shit!" he fumed kicking in the door. He turned round to Claire who had her arms crossed over her chest, "Hey, who was the one who got psychotic over a shutter in the middle of a zombie ambush?"
She shook her head taking out the handgun, "Stand back," she said aiming at the keyhole. Mike stepped behind her and waited. Claire narrowed her eyes, steadied her hand and fired.
Mike moved up and rattled the knob, "Once more."
She nodded, he moved back, and she fired again. Mike rattled the doorknob swearing at each time the door wouldn't open. Claire sat down and watched him rant at the wooden door. He seemed to loose his cool and started kicking it in.
"You piece of shit! Open damn you!" he stopped and just stared at it, "I am going to open this door Claire, if it's the last thing I'll ever do," and then he started again. She rolled her eyes back and glanced at her surroundings.
Was Umbrella cheap or what? The place was a small shitty little thing with no more than eight rectangular tables covering about six people on each table. The décor was enough to make anyone loose their appetite, bright yellow walls with dark navy boarders. There were two vending machines at the far end, one with chocolate bars and crisps, and the other containing drinks, coke and stuff.
She stood up and walked to the vending machines, she glanced at Mike and was about to tell him about them but he was just too involved with the door. So she left him. She didn't know how to do this, she had no money and she wasn't sure opening them up was going to be easy. She clutched her gun and thought, using the gun was severely out of order, there weren't enough bullets left and she already wasted two. She really felt weak and sleepy; she slid back on the floor dizzy.
Her head was spinning. She closed her eyes trying to stop the constant spiralling, it was making her sick.
Mike finally gave up, only because his leg was hurting. He didn't understand why the door was not opening. It was wooden!! Nonetheless he couldn't subject his body to more pain. He turned round only find Claire lying on the floor still. He couldn't see any zombies or anything like that around, but he ran anyway.
"Claire?" he said lifting her up and propped her against one of the vending machine.
She opened her eyes, just barely, "I think…" she swallowed, "…I'm going hypo…"
He looked at her, "What?"
She huffed and frowned, "You're a doctor aren't you?!"
"Of the brain! Not of the body!"
"Ok, ok! I need to eat something to stop the dizziness," he pulled her away from the machine and rested her against the wall. He returned to it, stood back and kicked the glass with his foot. It broke in no time and he grabbed anything and everything. He ran back to Claire placing the chocolate bars and crisp packets on top of her lap. She quickly grabbed something that resembled a chocolate bar and ripped it open shoving the food in her mouth.
Mike sat next to her tired; he reached for a chocolate bar and slowly tore off the wrapping, "Bon appetit."
Claire laid her right hand on her leg, the hand was too painful to move let alone use. Blood was still escaping from her wound and it dripped down her trousers soaking into the black denim. She struggled with the wrapper almost throwing it across the room in a fit of rage. Mike stood up and walked to the drinks machine; he leant into it closer and examined the lock. No glass to break and only a thick plastic cover, it was going to be more difficult than the other vending machine.
He turned back to Claire, shrugged and thrust the machine to the floor. Claire could feel the ground shake as the machine collapsed. She frowned startled by the loud noise, "You could of warned me."
"Sorry," he replied pushing back the machine, the lock was loose but still intact. He stopped and looked around for something to bash it open.
"Here," called Claire holding the pump action.
He grinned, "You read my mind," and took it. Using the butt of the gun he rammed it into the lock. It gave way. Mike handed it back and grabbed a bottle of water. He moved to Claire and sat down again, "Right this looks bad," he took her hand and laid it out.
Claire jerked slightly; he laughed, "Baby."
She grimaced, "It hurts."
"Now you know how I felt," he muttered.
"Well at least I was more gentle than you."
"Yeah right, it was you who was dashing that green stuff in my eyes."
"If you would of stopped moving in the first place then it wouldn't of gotten into your eyes."
He opened the bottle of water and took out a packet of tissues from his pocket, "Now this might sting." He doused the tissue and softly wiped the blood away.
She watched him carefully as he cleaned her wound, "So, do you believe me now?"
He looked up at her, but didn't smile; there was almost an understanding look within his eyes. He looked away and went back to her hand; "I knew you weren't crazy when I first saw you walk into my office."
"Why was that?"
"I really don't know. I've dealt with a lot people, but you were so assure of yourself."
"Can't a crazy be 'so assure' of themselves? And I did try to commit," she stopped and forced herself to say it, "suicide."
He smiled and looked up, "Claire," he said, "You don't need to be crazy to commit suicide. You knew it was wrong but it didn't stop you."
"Yeah, because I was crazy."
"No, because you were unhappy," he sat back, "Because you were grieving and very depressed. You thought it was the right thing at that time. You even said that it was 'a cry for help', to release the pain."
Claire nodded, it made complete sense. But it didn't help her under why she was seeing Steve. She smiled wiping her cheek, "You're good at this."
"It's my job," he smiled.
She laughed taking back her hand, although it was still sore, the bleeding had stopped and it was less likely to get infected. She yawned and settled back into the wall.
"How are you feeling? Dizziness gone?"
"Almost," she yawned.
He smiled, "Rest for a while," and he patted his lap.
"But," she pointed the door, worried for their safety.
"I'll be awake Claire. Don't worry so much," she looked at him for a while and placed her head on his lap for a short rest.
"Ok," she whispered, "I'm trusting you with my life," and she seemed to drift away.
"Enjoying yourself Claire?" the voice was so familiar, but the warmth it used to hold was drowning in malice. She opened her eyes and Steve was staring back at her.
"Steve?" she said a little confused to see him.
"What? You're surprised to see me or something?" the bitterness was so thick, it was nauseating. He narrowed his eyes and looked away from her.
"Why are you angry?"
"Why?! Look over there!" he pointed out in front of him and there she was laying her head on Mike. Steve narrowed his eyes again grinding his teeth together, "You're telling me that's not you?"
She stared at the brunette sleeping soundlessly by Mike, "I'm only sleeping Steve."
He laughed, a high sound that meant he didn't believe her, "You're only sleeping," he said and got up, "Sleeping my ass! I died for you Claire and is this how you repay me?!"
She immediately stood, "Steve no! No!"
"Why lie to me? I'm you! I know what you think, what you," he paused and anger washed away leaving his sadness to engulf him, "feel."
She sat back down, closed her eyes and sighed, "What do you want me to do? Grieve for you for the rest of my life? I have to move on Steve."
He stood there in the light as if a lost child, his red hair soft and gentle lying over his forehead. His sad filled blue-green eyes staring back at her seeking for an ounce of hope. She didn't know what to say to him, her heart did love him but he was gone. She knew she wouldn't get over him and he would always have a place in her heart, but she needed to move on, start fresh. He couldn't understand that, he felt as if an insect, small and insignificant. He didn't want to be erased or replaced, he only existed because of her and if she moved on then he wasn't needed anymore.
"But what about me? I need you!" he couldn't contain his emotions any longer; he didn't want to be cast aside as if he was nothing.
"What about you?! Your dead Steve!" she regretted it as the words flew from her lips.
He stopped, his whole body froze and she saw it…fear, fear of being alone, fear of the endless isolation and the fear of not having her anymore. The room went silent and he only stared at her in disbelief, his tears ran on their own accord as if they shared his pain. "I might be," his voice was plain all his emotions, anger, fear, love vanished, "but I'll never stop loving you."
"Steve," she said feeling the guilt pass through her. He turned round and began to walk, "Steve."
He didn't seem or want to hear her.
"Steve!" she called out.
"You alright?" asked Mike, she opened her eyes, gasped and scrambled away from him.
"Claire? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she snapped, "Nothing," she said again but calmly, "Nothing's wrong, I just had a nightmare. Anyway how long have I've been asleep?"
"Not long. About a few minutes."
"Right," she frowned, "Well we best get out of here."
He nodded and stood; she did the same still adding a huge gap in between them. He picked up his shotgun and moved quietly to the barricade door. He glanced back and signalled her to move. She took her gun out, secured her rucksack with the bottle of water and a few snacks and walked up to him. Mike slid the table away from the door, "Ready?" he whispered.
Claire nodded and he opened the door. He peeked his head through and returned to her, "How many bullets do you have?"
She frowned confused by his question, "Not many, why?"
He coughed, a nervous sound from his throat, "Well it doesn't look great out there." He backed away from the door clutching his pump action firmly, "You best stay behind me."
The door opened slightly, moaning sounds emerged from behind it. She took a deep breath and whispered close to Mike, "Headshots will decrease the amount of ammo you use," she paused hearing the groaning coming closer and closer, "I'll try the best that I can with my gun and," she hated to say it, "combat knife."
He was about to object, but she cut him off, "I'll try and damage their legs and ankles with the knife. At least they'll be a lot slower than usual." Mike focused all this attention to the door, Claire was right and it was the best they could do even if it was very dangerous. He nodded and Claire moved up to the far right from him.
She glanced at her gun and shook her head, attacking zombies with only a knife was down right insane, but it had to be done. She took another deep breath and released it. Mike glanced at her; she smiled and winked, "Whatever you do don't die on me."
He laughed, "That's my main priority."
The door opened revealing a zombie-infested corridor, "Oh shit," she muttered to herself suddenly awoken by the loud and very intrusive sounds of the shotgun. The first four went down turning the white floor red. She heaved as the rotten smell of blood wafted towards her. She shook her head trying her best to gain her focus back. His seven shells were used and he backed up loading the pump action. Claire steadied herself bringing her handgun up; she narrowed her eyes and aimed.
One zombie went down with a headshot.
Her second zombie went down with another headshot.
The same with the third.
They kept on coming even though they were so slow. She aimed again and pulled the trigger. A miss, it went straight into the chest not even slowing it down.
Mike began again only achieving two headshots out of his seven bullets. He cursed moving further away from the door. Claire looked back at her incoming opponents. The smell was almost disorienting, her eyes were burning and she felt she was about to vomit every second. She exhaled aiming and shooting and missing every single shot. She pulled the trigger again and…
…Nothing! The clip was empty, "Fuck!" she cried.
"How are you doing?" called Mike.
"How the fuck do you think I'm doing?!"
"Better than me I hope."
She laughed as the truth was sinking in, "Since you're the one who has the bullets, I'll say I'm screwed!" Claire moved back and threw her useless gun into one zombie, it hit its head, the zombie groaned, shook its head and lunge forward.
Claire only had less than a milli-second to draw her knife and plunge it into the neck of the zombie. She scrambled away pulling the blade out from the flesh. The zombie sagged to the floor convulsing in its own blood. She frantically glanced at her surroundings for anything to use against the horde of zombies.
Grabbing a chair she jabbed it into the crowd as well as using the knife to slice into their legs. Some fell down on top of each other trapped under the un-dead bodies. Some with their mouths open dragged themselves on the floor towards her. She rammed the chair on a few heads or kicked in their skulls. But it wasn't good enough, each zombie she killed, two popped up in its place. She backed up until there was no place to go. She was trapped, trapped by concrete and the un-dead. She jabbed the chair into the crowd, but one zombie caught it and wouldn't let go. Claire didn't know what to do, so she pushed the chair with all her might until it pierced the zombie's chest. It groaned as the wood passed through its chest and reappeared at the back. It fell backwards, knocking a few of its comrades as it scraped at the air.
Now she had the knife, and they were closing in on her fast.
"Mike!" she screamed, "A little help here!"
Mike knocked the last of the zombies he was fighting and jumped up onto a table blasting at the un-dead that enclosed Claire. He jumped down hitting and knocking with his gun any and almost every zombie. He opened a path to Claire, yanked her hand and ran across the fallen un-dead.
"You alright?" he puffed as they dodged the un-dead leftovers.
"Pea-chy," she cried as he kept hauling her through the zombie maze and out into the clean and clear corridor.
They stopped, bent down and panted away. The zombies still inside seemed lost; they wandered the cafeteria looking for the two humans. Mike laughed unable to maintain the adrenaline he was feeling. It was a rush being so close to death and yet so far.
He grinned at her still laughing off the natural high he was receiving, "Wanna do that again?"
Anyway on with the story and O MY GOD is this big or is this big!!!
Enjoy!!! ;o)
32
Claire closed the door and dragged herself to a chair. She settled down in it laying her head on the cool plastic surface of the table and sighed. Mike sat opposite her panting like a dog, they had ran down three flights eager to get away from anything that was in a form of a zombie or a commando. Luckily her drop in the vent saved her two flights, but she wasn't so great about it since her back was really aching.
Well everything was clear until level four came about. Every single zombie imaginable had to pop up at the same time that they were passing, and of course if that wasn't enough the light came on but with an Umbrella 'lock down'. Claire couldn't stop herself from swearing as the metal shutters covered up the glass. She also couldn't keep her anger in anymore and just went ballistic smashing the shutter in and in. It came to a point where Mike had to restrain and drag her down the stairs before the zombies took a chunk out of her.
Claire glanced at her hands, they were sore and her right was bleeding, she cursed unable to accept that everything wasn't going right. Ammo was fading and now with the 'lock down' was there anyway of escaping Umbrella's wrath? She didn't think so anymore, her luck was running out.
Mike looked up, "What's wrong?"
She held up her right hand, "This and that," she pointed at the door, which had a table flipped over to block anything from coming in. Time was getting short, she could hear them coming, dragging their virus infected bodies towards them.
He took her hand and examined it, "I can fix this, but," he glanced at the door, "but that is something we have to do."
She huffed, "But I'm just too tired and hungry to do anything," she faced him and he smiled.
"Well just look behind me."
She leant on her left side gazing at the back of the room, "No fucking way!" she gasped. She stood up as if something yanked her out of the seat. They were in the hospital's cafeteria, surrounded by food.
"But first we need to clean your wound."
"Yeah whatever," she mumbled unenthusiastically still staring at the covered up kitchen. He stood up still holding her hand and led her to the side door to the kitchen. He grabbed the knob and twisted…and twisted again.
"Shit!" he fumed kicking in the door. He turned round to Claire who had her arms crossed over her chest, "Hey, who was the one who got psychotic over a shutter in the middle of a zombie ambush?"
She shook her head taking out the handgun, "Stand back," she said aiming at the keyhole. Mike stepped behind her and waited. Claire narrowed her eyes, steadied her hand and fired.
Mike moved up and rattled the knob, "Once more."
She nodded, he moved back, and she fired again. Mike rattled the doorknob swearing at each time the door wouldn't open. Claire sat down and watched him rant at the wooden door. He seemed to loose his cool and started kicking it in.
"You piece of shit! Open damn you!" he stopped and just stared at it, "I am going to open this door Claire, if it's the last thing I'll ever do," and then he started again. She rolled her eyes back and glanced at her surroundings.
Was Umbrella cheap or what? The place was a small shitty little thing with no more than eight rectangular tables covering about six people on each table. The décor was enough to make anyone loose their appetite, bright yellow walls with dark navy boarders. There were two vending machines at the far end, one with chocolate bars and crisps, and the other containing drinks, coke and stuff.
She stood up and walked to the vending machines, she glanced at Mike and was about to tell him about them but he was just too involved with the door. So she left him. She didn't know how to do this, she had no money and she wasn't sure opening them up was going to be easy. She clutched her gun and thought, using the gun was severely out of order, there weren't enough bullets left and she already wasted two. She really felt weak and sleepy; she slid back on the floor dizzy.
Her head was spinning. She closed her eyes trying to stop the constant spiralling, it was making her sick.
Mike finally gave up, only because his leg was hurting. He didn't understand why the door was not opening. It was wooden!! Nonetheless he couldn't subject his body to more pain. He turned round only find Claire lying on the floor still. He couldn't see any zombies or anything like that around, but he ran anyway.
"Claire?" he said lifting her up and propped her against one of the vending machine.
She opened her eyes, just barely, "I think…" she swallowed, "…I'm going hypo…"
He looked at her, "What?"
She huffed and frowned, "You're a doctor aren't you?!"
"Of the brain! Not of the body!"
"Ok, ok! I need to eat something to stop the dizziness," he pulled her away from the machine and rested her against the wall. He returned to it, stood back and kicked the glass with his foot. It broke in no time and he grabbed anything and everything. He ran back to Claire placing the chocolate bars and crisp packets on top of her lap. She quickly grabbed something that resembled a chocolate bar and ripped it open shoving the food in her mouth.
Mike sat next to her tired; he reached for a chocolate bar and slowly tore off the wrapping, "Bon appetit."
Claire laid her right hand on her leg, the hand was too painful to move let alone use. Blood was still escaping from her wound and it dripped down her trousers soaking into the black denim. She struggled with the wrapper almost throwing it across the room in a fit of rage. Mike stood up and walked to the drinks machine; he leant into it closer and examined the lock. No glass to break and only a thick plastic cover, it was going to be more difficult than the other vending machine.
He turned back to Claire, shrugged and thrust the machine to the floor. Claire could feel the ground shake as the machine collapsed. She frowned startled by the loud noise, "You could of warned me."
"Sorry," he replied pushing back the machine, the lock was loose but still intact. He stopped and looked around for something to bash it open.
"Here," called Claire holding the pump action.
He grinned, "You read my mind," and took it. Using the butt of the gun he rammed it into the lock. It gave way. Mike handed it back and grabbed a bottle of water. He moved to Claire and sat down again, "Right this looks bad," he took her hand and laid it out.
Claire jerked slightly; he laughed, "Baby."
She grimaced, "It hurts."
"Now you know how I felt," he muttered.
"Well at least I was more gentle than you."
"Yeah right, it was you who was dashing that green stuff in my eyes."
"If you would of stopped moving in the first place then it wouldn't of gotten into your eyes."
He opened the bottle of water and took out a packet of tissues from his pocket, "Now this might sting." He doused the tissue and softly wiped the blood away.
She watched him carefully as he cleaned her wound, "So, do you believe me now?"
He looked up at her, but didn't smile; there was almost an understanding look within his eyes. He looked away and went back to her hand; "I knew you weren't crazy when I first saw you walk into my office."
"Why was that?"
"I really don't know. I've dealt with a lot people, but you were so assure of yourself."
"Can't a crazy be 'so assure' of themselves? And I did try to commit," she stopped and forced herself to say it, "suicide."
He smiled and looked up, "Claire," he said, "You don't need to be crazy to commit suicide. You knew it was wrong but it didn't stop you."
"Yeah, because I was crazy."
"No, because you were unhappy," he sat back, "Because you were grieving and very depressed. You thought it was the right thing at that time. You even said that it was 'a cry for help', to release the pain."
Claire nodded, it made complete sense. But it didn't help her under why she was seeing Steve. She smiled wiping her cheek, "You're good at this."
"It's my job," he smiled.
She laughed taking back her hand, although it was still sore, the bleeding had stopped and it was less likely to get infected. She yawned and settled back into the wall.
"How are you feeling? Dizziness gone?"
"Almost," she yawned.
He smiled, "Rest for a while," and he patted his lap.
"But," she pointed the door, worried for their safety.
"I'll be awake Claire. Don't worry so much," she looked at him for a while and placed her head on his lap for a short rest.
"Ok," she whispered, "I'm trusting you with my life," and she seemed to drift away.
"Enjoying yourself Claire?" the voice was so familiar, but the warmth it used to hold was drowning in malice. She opened her eyes and Steve was staring back at her.
"Steve?" she said a little confused to see him.
"What? You're surprised to see me or something?" the bitterness was so thick, it was nauseating. He narrowed his eyes and looked away from her.
"Why are you angry?"
"Why?! Look over there!" he pointed out in front of him and there she was laying her head on Mike. Steve narrowed his eyes again grinding his teeth together, "You're telling me that's not you?"
She stared at the brunette sleeping soundlessly by Mike, "I'm only sleeping Steve."
He laughed, a high sound that meant he didn't believe her, "You're only sleeping," he said and got up, "Sleeping my ass! I died for you Claire and is this how you repay me?!"
She immediately stood, "Steve no! No!"
"Why lie to me? I'm you! I know what you think, what you," he paused and anger washed away leaving his sadness to engulf him, "feel."
She sat back down, closed her eyes and sighed, "What do you want me to do? Grieve for you for the rest of my life? I have to move on Steve."
He stood there in the light as if a lost child, his red hair soft and gentle lying over his forehead. His sad filled blue-green eyes staring back at her seeking for an ounce of hope. She didn't know what to say to him, her heart did love him but he was gone. She knew she wouldn't get over him and he would always have a place in her heart, but she needed to move on, start fresh. He couldn't understand that, he felt as if an insect, small and insignificant. He didn't want to be erased or replaced, he only existed because of her and if she moved on then he wasn't needed anymore.
"But what about me? I need you!" he couldn't contain his emotions any longer; he didn't want to be cast aside as if he was nothing.
"What about you?! Your dead Steve!" she regretted it as the words flew from her lips.
He stopped, his whole body froze and she saw it…fear, fear of being alone, fear of the endless isolation and the fear of not having her anymore. The room went silent and he only stared at her in disbelief, his tears ran on their own accord as if they shared his pain. "I might be," his voice was plain all his emotions, anger, fear, love vanished, "but I'll never stop loving you."
"Steve," she said feeling the guilt pass through her. He turned round and began to walk, "Steve."
He didn't seem or want to hear her.
"Steve!" she called out.
"You alright?" asked Mike, she opened her eyes, gasped and scrambled away from him.
"Claire? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she snapped, "Nothing," she said again but calmly, "Nothing's wrong, I just had a nightmare. Anyway how long have I've been asleep?"
"Not long. About a few minutes."
"Right," she frowned, "Well we best get out of here."
He nodded and stood; she did the same still adding a huge gap in between them. He picked up his shotgun and moved quietly to the barricade door. He glanced back and signalled her to move. She took her gun out, secured her rucksack with the bottle of water and a few snacks and walked up to him. Mike slid the table away from the door, "Ready?" he whispered.
Claire nodded and he opened the door. He peeked his head through and returned to her, "How many bullets do you have?"
She frowned confused by his question, "Not many, why?"
He coughed, a nervous sound from his throat, "Well it doesn't look great out there." He backed away from the door clutching his pump action firmly, "You best stay behind me."
The door opened slightly, moaning sounds emerged from behind it. She took a deep breath and whispered close to Mike, "Headshots will decrease the amount of ammo you use," she paused hearing the groaning coming closer and closer, "I'll try the best that I can with my gun and," she hated to say it, "combat knife."
He was about to object, but she cut him off, "I'll try and damage their legs and ankles with the knife. At least they'll be a lot slower than usual." Mike focused all this attention to the door, Claire was right and it was the best they could do even if it was very dangerous. He nodded and Claire moved up to the far right from him.
She glanced at her gun and shook her head, attacking zombies with only a knife was down right insane, but it had to be done. She took another deep breath and released it. Mike glanced at her; she smiled and winked, "Whatever you do don't die on me."
He laughed, "That's my main priority."
The door opened revealing a zombie-infested corridor, "Oh shit," she muttered to herself suddenly awoken by the loud and very intrusive sounds of the shotgun. The first four went down turning the white floor red. She heaved as the rotten smell of blood wafted towards her. She shook her head trying her best to gain her focus back. His seven shells were used and he backed up loading the pump action. Claire steadied herself bringing her handgun up; she narrowed her eyes and aimed.
One zombie went down with a headshot.
Her second zombie went down with another headshot.
The same with the third.
They kept on coming even though they were so slow. She aimed again and pulled the trigger. A miss, it went straight into the chest not even slowing it down.
Mike began again only achieving two headshots out of his seven bullets. He cursed moving further away from the door. Claire looked back at her incoming opponents. The smell was almost disorienting, her eyes were burning and she felt she was about to vomit every second. She exhaled aiming and shooting and missing every single shot. She pulled the trigger again and…
…Nothing! The clip was empty, "Fuck!" she cried.
"How are you doing?" called Mike.
"How the fuck do you think I'm doing?!"
"Better than me I hope."
She laughed as the truth was sinking in, "Since you're the one who has the bullets, I'll say I'm screwed!" Claire moved back and threw her useless gun into one zombie, it hit its head, the zombie groaned, shook its head and lunge forward.
Claire only had less than a milli-second to draw her knife and plunge it into the neck of the zombie. She scrambled away pulling the blade out from the flesh. The zombie sagged to the floor convulsing in its own blood. She frantically glanced at her surroundings for anything to use against the horde of zombies.
Grabbing a chair she jabbed it into the crowd as well as using the knife to slice into their legs. Some fell down on top of each other trapped under the un-dead bodies. Some with their mouths open dragged themselves on the floor towards her. She rammed the chair on a few heads or kicked in their skulls. But it wasn't good enough, each zombie she killed, two popped up in its place. She backed up until there was no place to go. She was trapped, trapped by concrete and the un-dead. She jabbed the chair into the crowd, but one zombie caught it and wouldn't let go. Claire didn't know what to do, so she pushed the chair with all her might until it pierced the zombie's chest. It groaned as the wood passed through its chest and reappeared at the back. It fell backwards, knocking a few of its comrades as it scraped at the air.
Now she had the knife, and they were closing in on her fast.
"Mike!" she screamed, "A little help here!"
Mike knocked the last of the zombies he was fighting and jumped up onto a table blasting at the un-dead that enclosed Claire. He jumped down hitting and knocking with his gun any and almost every zombie. He opened a path to Claire, yanked her hand and ran across the fallen un-dead.
"You alright?" he puffed as they dodged the un-dead leftovers.
"Pea-chy," she cried as he kept hauling her through the zombie maze and out into the clean and clear corridor.
They stopped, bent down and panted away. The zombies still inside seemed lost; they wandered the cafeteria looking for the two humans. Mike laughed unable to maintain the adrenaline he was feeling. It was a rush being so close to death and yet so far.
He grinned at her still laughing off the natural high he was receiving, "Wanna do that again?"