To minimateking30: thank you so much, I'm so happy to hear that! ^_^
To ROCuevas: thank you! :)
To LustLets: Here's hoping! *fingers crossed*
I think this is the longest chapter I've written for this story so far. I must've scrapped this chapter at least twenty times before I became satisfied with how it turned out, hence why I took so long to update. Nevertheless, enjoy!
.: 15 :.
Buttercup turned onto her side, groaning when she felt a twinge of pain shoot through her neck from sleeping wrong. After more sharp pains shot through her shoulder blades, she reluctantly sat up, wincing at the bright light that flooded through one of the windows.
It took her a moment to realize that one of them was uncovered, exposing the living room to anyone or anything that might be lurking outside. She quickly got to her feet and moved to re-cover it when something caused her to glance at the Professor, who was still asleep on the couch.
The man's face was clammy in the morning light, his damp, sweaty hair clinging to his forehead. His features were troubled and his breathing seemed much more rapid than before. Two thick blankets had been draped over him despite the high humidity, yet he shivered as if it were below freezing. Buttercup approached him cautiously, bringing her wrist to his forehead to see if her suspicions were true.
He was burning up.
Professor Utonium had seemed fine only hours earlier. Ms. Keane had found a deck of Uno cards upstairs and they'd all played a few rounds, a welcome reprieve from deciding how they would proceed in this new world. They'd laughed and shared stories and reminisced about how the world used to be, even though it had only been a few weeks since the outbreak.
It had been three days since they'd taken refuge in this house, the infected leaving them alone for some reason. Buttercup had heard them stalking around at night and knew a few had lingered around this particular house, yet none of them decided to break in. It was puzzling, to be honest, but she knew better than to look a gift-horse in the mouth. They were alive and okay for the most part, and that's how Buttercup wanted it to stay.
But this new development wasn't good; the Professor shouldn't have a high fever. Buttercup was sure he wasn't infected, since he probably would have turned the day after they got here if he had been bitten, but there was clearly something wrong. It was then that she realized Blossom and Ms. Keane were nowhere to be found, however, the smell of chicken wafting through the living room indicated that someone was in the kitchen cooking something. She wasn't sure how that was possible, considering electricity was no longer an option, but the smell made her stomach growl.
She reluctantly left Professor Utonium's side to peek into the kitchen, where Ms. Keane was stirring a pot of chicken-flavored ramen noodles. Blossom was in the process of wetting a washcloth with cold tap water at the sink, wringing out the excess before turning on her heel. She was about to return to the Professor to place the cool cloth on his forehead when she realized Buttercup was standing there.
"Good morning."
"Morning," Buttercup's voice came out hoarse and she winced. After clearing her throat, she tried again: "What's going on with the Professor?"
Blossom's smile gave way to a worn, tired expression, her eyelids drooping slightly as her lips fell into a frown.
"So you noticed the fever, too."
"He's burning up, how could I not?"
Ms. Keane gave the noodles one final stir before adding the rest of the flavor packet to the mix. The smell of chicken was stronger now and while it made Buttercup's stomach growl fiercely, she wanted to know why her father was shivering when it was heading for ninety degrees outside.
"We think his wound is infected," the redhead explained. "When I took off the bandages to clean it this morning, it looked even worse than it first did despite my attempts to sterilize it."
"So you don't think he was bitten?"
"No," Blossom reassured. "If he was infected, he would have turned already. He's still lucid when he's awake and he's not exhibiting any symptoms other than chills and a fever."
Buttercup swore under her breath. "Wonderful. And what about you, Teach? Do you think your burn might be getting infected?"
"I'm alright," the older woman replied, offering a weak smile. She held up the affected arm to show off her sleeve and the slight bump that indicated bandaging. "I managed to find a thin long-sleeved shirt to keep it safely covered after I wrapped it, so I think it's going to heal without any complications."
Blossom left the room to place the cold washcloth over her father's forehead. When she returned, Ms. Keane had poured Buttercup a bowl of noodles and the noirette barely managed a 'thank you' before digging in.
"If you don't mind." Buttercup's attention was brought back to her sister, a few stray noodles hanging from her lips. "I could actually use your help. I managed to give him the Advil I found in the downstairs bathroom, but there were only two pills in the bottle and he was in enough pain that he asked for both. We're going to have to go out and find more if we want to keep that fever down and help him manage the pain."
Determination flickered in Buttercup's lime-green eyes as she wiped at her mouth. "Alright, I'm in. When do we leave?"
They found themselves standing outside a beautiful Victorian-style house located a few blocks from their current residence, and the beautiful building looked like it cost a pretty penny back when humans ruled the earth. Buttercup wouldn't have thought twice about the building a few weeks ago, but now, if she was being completely honest, it was actually intimidating; who knew how many infected could be holed up inside?
Before they'd left to journey to this particular house, Ms. Keane insisted that Blossom eat something. It was when the girls had finished their makeshift breakfast that they explained they were going out to scavenge and, although the former teacher had been hesitant to let them go, she eventually relented and wished them good luck, promising to watch over the Professor in their stead.
"I didn't think I'd ever admit this about anything," Buttercup huffed. "But I'm really not sure about this, Bloss."
"If we can get our hands on medicine, we can control the fever," Blossom reminded. "I know it's dangerous, but trust me, if we can score ibuprofen or penicillin, it'll be worth it."
It was highly unlikely they would find penicillin, but the redhead figured anything was possible.
"Do this for the Professor." Buttercup exhaled, her apprehension only increasing the more she thought about how badly this could actually go for them. "Right."
"We'll have to be quiet," Blossom murmured, her pink-colored eyes scanning the house much like Buttercup had done earlier. "I don't think there's anything inside, but you never know."
It was times like this that Buttercup missed her beloved baseball bat, who she'd named 'Big Bessie.' Blossom always said it was silly to give a name to an inanimate object—personification was only meant for literature and poetry, she'd argued—but since when did Buttercup ever listen to Blossom?
...Okay, so current times called for her to listen to the red-haired know-it-all, but that wasn't the point!
All she had was her pocketknife, the weapon handle clutched so harshly in her palm that she was sure indentations were beginning to form upon her skin. The measly knife wouldn't do much damage but she'd be damned if she didn't go down at least trying to fight for her life. Blossom carried a simple hammer she'd found in the house's garage. If this had been any other situation, Buttercup might have laughed at how ridiculous they must look. However, since today's agenda was serious, she held her tongue and instead focused on the task at hand.
They approached the front porch warily, careful to keep their steps as quiet as possible. Blossom grabbed a bobby pin from her hair and handed it to Buttercup, who picked the lock with ease. The door creaked open to reveal a dark hallway, the faintest traces of any sunlight peeking from upstairs.
Both girls listened intently. They weren't sure what the infected sounded like when they were sleeping—did they even sleep, for that matter?—but they knew that the infected were loud. Heavy, labored breathing, grunts, hissing; if there were any in this house, the girls would know right away. While a majority of the infected had rapidly gained intelligence, a few remained clumsy and stupid, operating solely on primal instincts.
"I don't hear anything," Buttercup whispered. "I'll go in first. You check the kitchen, I'll check the living room."
Blossom raised an eyebrow. "You really think we should split up?"
"You got a better idea? What if we're both in a room and one of them sneaks up on us? If we're separated, at least one of us can scream and warn the other to get out of dodge."
"Buttercup, if we get killed..."
The noirette set her jaw stubbornly. "We won't. Just follow my lead."
Without another word, Buttercup entered the house and crept into the living room. Old, dried blood stained the carpet in thick splatters, more of the substance clinging to the coffee table and television set, but the room was open despite the abundance of antique furniture and grotesque smears. This room was clear.
Blossom came around the corner after a spell. She gave a thumbs-up, and they both proceeded towards the stairs. Buttercup went up first, careful to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible. One particular stair creaked loudly and she mentally swore, freezing to listen. When it was clear that nothing had heard them and there was no sound of movement, they continued until they reached the top stair.
Buttercup motioned for her sister to check out the main bathroom while she searched the bedrooms.
After her sister disappeared into what appeared to be a guest bedroom, the noirette remained in the doorway for a moment before peeking past the shower curtain. There was nothing hiding there, thank God, and so she checked the sink cabinet. Nothing there either; all clear. She quickly went through the medicine cabinet and grabbed anything and everything she figured they could use, beaming when she spied a full, unopened bottle of Advil sitting on the top shelf.
Score!
After she emptied the cabinet, she moved on to the master bedroom. The walk-in closet was empty and there was nothing hiding under the bed. Blossom appeared in the doorway and reported the same about the other rooms she'd checked: the house appeared to be free of infected.
"I found some Advil," Buttercup said, jerking her thumb towards her backpack. "Think that'll be enough to help control Professor's fever?"
Blossom let out a sigh of relief. "Yes, that's perfect for now. It's a shame we couldn't find a form of penicillin, but beggars can't be choosers. We got really lucky; I was certain we'd run into one of those things and I'm not sure how I would have handled it if we did."
"I know how I would've handled it." Buttercup mimed hitting a home-run. Blossom was about to reply when she began to feel odd, as if they weren't alone. Outside, it was completely silent. The usual chorus of summer insects was absent, as was the chirping of birds. Hadn't the world been abuzz before? Blossom could've sworn there had been birds singing before..
"Hey, Buttercup?"
The noirette cocked her head curiously. "What's wrong?"
"Do you feel funny?" Blossom looked around the room, pink eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"No, why?"
"I don't know. I just feel like..." Chills ran up and down her spine and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. The house had felt fine before; it was, after all, just a building, and they'd checked every room, every nook and cranny that might hide an infected, so it was an empty building at that.
Both girls remained silent for a moment as Blossom tried to figure out how to put her feelings into words. It felt like something was close by, like there was another presence. The floorboards weren't creaking with footsteps and the entire house, as well as the entire outside world, was quiet. Nothing was going on, yet it felt like they were surrounded by an invisible crowd, as if...
Blossom's face drained of color when she realized what the feeling was. "It feels like we're being watched."
Buttercup frowned. Now that she thought about it... Something truly didn't feel right. There was nowhere for an infected to hide in here and they'd checked every possible hiding spot in this house, but she wouldn't put it past those monsters to get creative about stalking their prey.
"Let's get out of here," she murmured. "Come on, you go first; I'll be right behind you."
They made their way back downstairs and quickly exited the house. To their relief, nothing was lurking around outside and the cacophony of nature was just beginning to start up again. Blossom felt much better once the sunshine warmed her skin, that prickly uncomfortable feeling leaving her more and more as they got further away from the house.
"That was freaky," she murmured, readjusting her backpack.
"I can't believe we made it out of there in one piece," Buttercup remarked.
"Speaking of which..." Blossom grinned. "How did you know to do all that?"
"Do what?"
"Pick the lock, divide and conquer; I thought I was supposed to be the leader," she nudged her sister playfully and Buttercup laughed.
"Remember Mitch Mitchelson, back in Pokey Oaks?"
"You mean that weird, rude boy who used to torture the class hamster?"
"Yeah... Poor Twiggy. At least she found a good home that treated her well." They both paused, reminiscing about the cute little creature, before Buttercup continued. "Anyway, Mitch was the one who taught me a thing or two about picking locks. We used to play manhunt with a couple of other kids and we usually played in an old abandoned trailer park he used to live by. Sometimes we used to like hiding out in the old rickety trailers, but couldn't thanks to the locks on the front doors. Mitch taught me how to pick them so that our team would be able to use the trailers to our advantage. Man, those were the days..."
Blossom chuckled. "I never thought I would say this, but it looks like your rebellious days paid off."
"Yeah." Buttercup laughed again. "Who knew lock-picking would actually be a good thing?"
They reached their temporary residence within twenty minutes. The house was silent but Blossom didn't think anything of it. With the Professor sleeping and Ms. Keane most likely curled up with a book (the teacher had been eyeing a particularly thick tome in the bookcase), they hadn't expected a noisy home. Silence was also a good thing because it meant the infected wouldn't have a clue that humans were taking shelter within.
However, as Blossom drew closer to the living room where both adults were, an odd noise caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. The noise resembled that of a messy eater sloppily devouring a large meal, as if they couldn't get enough of the food in front of them. Warning bells went off in her head but she ignored them and peeked around the archway anyway, the sight before her causing the blood in her veins to run ice-cold.
Ms. Keane was not curled up with a book and the Professor was no longer laying on the couch; they were on the floor, the kindergarten teacher cradling him like a widow would cradle her deceased lover. Professor Utonium's eyes were closed in what looked to be blissful peace while Ms. Keane's face was buried in the crook of his neck, her mouth glued to the tender flesh there. Dread filled the pit of Blossom's stomach and she prayed this was some kind of sick prank.
Buttercup, who had been following closely behind Blossom, went ahead past her sister and entered the living room. She froze for a second at the sight before them but recovered much faster than Blossom, who wanted nothing more than to grab her sister and get as far away from this house as possible before Ms. Keane realized they were there. Yet Blossom found that she couldn't move; she, along with rational thought, were frozen with shock.
"What the hell are you doing?!" the noirette demanded, moving to approach both adults. "The Professor's injured and he's sick! What are you—"
The former schoolteacher turned and hissed at Buttercup, stopping the girl in her tracks. Ms. Keane's gorgeous blue eyes were now a violent red, black spidery veins branching out from around her eyes. Blood was smeared around her mouth and stained her previously-white teeth, two unnaturally-sharp canines poking out from her upper lip. Horrified, Blossom's gut sank as her suspicions were confirmed: Ms. Keane was actually feeding on the Professor and was no longer the sweet and caring human being she once was.
"Holy shit," Buttercup whispered, taking a step back. She almost bumped into Blossom, but the redhead shifted to the side just in time. "You're one of them."
"Now girls," the woman's voice was still sweet and melodic, yet now it was warbled with a darkness that made Blossom's gut churn with more dread. "Please stay where you are."
Blossom was shocked the infected woman possessed the ability to form coherent speech. How the hell was Ms. Keane speaking? Didn't the infection scramble a person's brains and reduce them to primitive instincts?
Nevertheless, they were in a really bad situation right now; the infected were not known for being slow and if they weren't careful, they would end up just like their father, if not torn to pieces.
Ms. Keane returned her attention to the Professor, bringing up her thumb to caress his cheek lovingly before she nuzzled the crook of his neck, her red lips once again latching onto the previous wound she'd made. She bit into the tender flesh once more to reopen it, lapping at it to coax more of his blood out, and the Professor groaned softly. His expression—which, strangely enough, had morphed into pain when Ms. Keane stopped feeding from him—became peaceful again, almost mirroring pleasure as the former teacher slowly drained his remaining life force from him, his daughters unable to do anything but watch in muted horror.
When Ms. Keane had finished, she licked her lips and gently lowered him to the ground, his expression still hauntingly content. The sight burned itself into Blossom's mind and she wanted to cry, to scream, to hurt the infected woman masquerading as their former kindergarten teacher, but she was still frozen where she stood, unable to even wiggle her fingers if she wanted to.
"It's only a matter of time, now." That sickly-sweet voice came again, sounding much more like Ms. Keane and much less like someone infected. "Your father was a wonderful man and you girls meant the world to him. I remember your very first day at Pokey Oaks, I literally had to push him out the door because he was so worried about you three and whether or not you'd make friends or feel welcome at school. He loved you dearly."
"And you killed him," was all Blossom could whisper, her emotions catching up to her. Tears blurred her vision and her heart clenched painfully at the sight of her father laying on the floor lifelessly, his eyes sunken in, cheeks pale and hollow with death. At least he looked peaceful. The lump of grief that lodged itself in her throat made it hard to breathe, let alone talk.
"Y-you took our father away from us."
Ms. Keane turned to face them, her eyes no longer a threatening red but rather a hypnotizing ocean-blue, mirroring the color it had been when she was still human. A sliver of sympathy swirled in her intense gaze but it didn't make Blossom or Buttercup feel any more at ease.
It struck the girls that somehow, Ms. Keane was so much prettier now than she ever had been during her human life. Her skin looked like pure porcelain with no imperfections whatsoever. Her perpetually-youthful face looked like it had been sculpted from the finest marble, her short black hair shiny and smooth-looking. The graceful way she moved, the quality of her voice... The woman was painfully perfect.
Blossom and Buttercup were astounded at this because the infected they'd seen never looked beautiful; they only looked like savage, bloodthirsty beasts.
Then again, they had never encountered the 'smart' ones that had somehow evolved. They had no idea what kind of tricks this 'type' of infected had up their sleeves, what they looked like (did their appearances vary? Ms. Keane didn't look or act anything like the infected from the initial outbreak), or how their minds worked. Blossom had done a bit of thinking about this the past few days and, now that she was actually standing in front of an evolved specimen, she was reminded of one word she never thought she would use to describe the infected.
Vampire.
The fangs, the thirst for blood, the fact that the infected always went for the neck (specifically the jugular) but never actually consumed flesh, the super speed, aggression, the inhuman beauty that Ms. Keane exhibited, the impossibly-fast rate of evolution... Blossom could have slapped herself for using such a ridiculous term to describe these monsters, but it made so much sense. Some of the horror movies Buttercup had subjected the Utonium family to had portrayed vampires in a similar manner and, while every movie differed in their portrayal of the blood-sucking monsters, the creatures currently plaguing her world fit the basics to a T.
But that begged the question: would traditional methods of repelling vampires work? Did garlic hurt them? What about holy water, crucifixes, not being able to cross bodies of water? Did sunlight have any affect on them? If they couldn't handle the sun, maybe Blossom and Buttercup could use that to their advantage and either toss Ms. Keane outside into broad daylight or they could escape, since she might not be able to follow them out into direct sunlight.
Stakes would definitely work, wouldn't they? No one survived a hunk of wood stabbed into the heart. Too bad she and Buttercup didn't have anything like that, and it sucked that Blossom couldn't have had this epiphany weeks ago. Maybe then none of this would have happened; she'd still be in the evacuation zone, with Buttercup and the Professor (alive), Bubbles on her way to them, safe and sound, humanity gaining the upper hand over these creatures. Maybe if she'd brought her suspicions to the scientists and doctors that had been working around the clock to find a cure, to the military personnel sacrificing their time and lives to keep civilians safe, maybe everything would be better than it was now.
...Or maybe the scientific community would have laughed at her and labelled her as a certified nutcase. Vampire... who in their right mind would think to compare the infected, a very real threat, to a mythical monster?
"Your father was dying," the woman hissed, pulling Blossom out her thoughts. Both girls were surprised to find no malice in Ms. Keane's voice. Perhaps hissing was just one of the ways the infected spoke, which was disturbing in itself, but at least her tone lacked hostility. "But I saved him. It won't be long now, girls; soon you'll have your father back and then you'll be one of us."
Buttercup seemed to snap out of the horrified trance she'd been in and came back to herself. She swallowed thickly.
"How?" she whispered. "Y-you were... You said you weren't bitten!"
Ms. Keane grinned, showing off perfect straight teeth sans the fangs they had seen earlier. Were they retractable? Blossom wanted to pinch herself; there was no way all of this was real. Sandra Keane was a gentle, honest woman, she would never lie or hurt anyone, and vampires didn't exist! None of this should even be possible, and yet here it was, staring her in the face:
Ms. Keane had lied to them, had taken advantage of their willingness to help others in need, and she had taken advantage of the Professor's weakened state to turn him into her next meal. And Ms. Keane, based on Blossom's suspicions, was a vampire.
"I was bitten. It was before your father found me."
Blossom's eyes flickered towards the arm that sported Ms. Keane's supposed burn wound. As if on cue, the school teacher lifted her sleeve to reveal no ugly wound or wrappings; instead, all Blossom saw was clear, blemish-free skin in its place, as if the burn had never been there to begin with.
"So you were never burned. Was that where you were bitten? Did you just smear stuff around it to make it look like a burn?" Buttercup asked.
"No, dear, I did get burned," Ms. Keane affirmed. "It took a little longer to heal than it usually would, but I did actually have a burn wound."
"H-how long does it usually take to heal?"
"Minutes."
Blossom and Buttercup shared a worried glance. So the infected could also heal at an impossibly-fast rate. That was a problem.
"I... I still don't understand," Blossom's eyebrows furrowed together. "You've been staying with us for a few days, y-yet now you're... How—"
"As I said, Blossom, it was before your father came along." Ms. Keane looked towards the unconscious man with an unreadable expression. "It usually takes a day to turn, maybe a little longer depending on how much venom is injected, but one bite is all it took for me."
"How did you get bitten? When?" Buttercup pressed.
"They infiltrated the zone a few days before the raid," Ms. Keane explained, beginning to circle them as a predator would circle its prey. "A few of us were bitten and instructed to get a read on the security measures. Did you know we weren't as safe as the military had us believe? They certainly did try to keep the zone safe, but there were quite a few holes in their defenses. Once we figured out how to take advantage of these lapses in judgment, it was easy; all we had to do was set a few fires, distract the authorities, and we let the rest of our people inside."
"So you helped kill off what may have been the last shred of humanity," the black-haired girl growled. "How's it feel to know you had a hand in murdering innocent people?"
Ms. Keane had the decency to look ashamed. "We aren't trying to murder people."
"Oh really? And how do you explain what happened at City Hall?"
"I had nothing to do with the atrocities that took place there!"
"But you definitely had a hand in what happened at the evac zone!"
Those hypnotic orbs flashed a warning red. "Buttercup, you're trying my patience. Please hold your tongue."
"How about no, you bloodsucking—"
"This doesn't make sense."
Ms. Keane and Buttercup turned to Blossom in mild surprise.
"You can speak clearly, just like when you were human," Blossom protested. "You're not... You never exhibited the usual signs of infection, you're not trying to rip us all into pieces... How is this possible?"
"Not all of us allow our bloodlust to take over, Blossom," the woman's voice was almost condescending now. "We don't always have to act like savages. Many of us are still human, you know. We just have a different palate."
"Still human and yet you lied to us." Buttercup didn't attempt to hide the resentment in her voice. "How could you do this to us? We took you in, we ate together! We watched you consume food; this doesn't make any sense!"
"We can have regular food, we just don't gain any nourishment from it," Ms. Keane explained calmly. "And I did it because of him."
"Who?" Blossom asked, confused.
The woman gestured to Professor Utonium, her expression growing disgustingly dreamy. "I did it because he's mine."
It was ironic that only days ago, Buttercup had felt happy to see her old teacher when at this very moment, she wanted to wipe that saccharine smile off her perfect face.
"The Professor doesn't belong to anyone," the raven-haired girl growled. That earned her a glare from Ms. Keane.
"You don't understand," the older woman shook her head impatiently. "And you won't be able to until you turn."
"What don't we understand?" Blossom pressed. In all her years, she'd never dealt with a mind-fuck of a situation such as the one at hand and she was trying to understand, to process everything that Ms. Keane had said—as well as the fact that everything she thought she knew about the infection had just been overturned the moment she took one look at this new version of her kindergarten teacher.
"Trust me, you'll see once you become like me. It's splendid," the older woman clasped her hands together excitedly. "You become so much stronger; power courses through your veins and you experience the world much more clearly than you ever could before. It's wonderful. I can't wait for you two and your father to experience all of this like I am; Bubbles, too, if she hasn't already become one of us. We'll be a family, girls!"
What does she mean 'we'll be a family'? Buttercup wondered. What the hell does she think is going to happen? Is she so fucked up from the infection that she thinks we'll be some kind of infected family after she kills us?
Blossom reached out a hand towards Buttercup's, a sister searching for some semblance of comfort. Neither of them had anticipated that things would end up like this, cornered by someone who wore a familiar face yet couldn't be more of a stranger. The sudden epiphany that these creatures were practically vampires plus the grief of her newly-deceased father, add on the knowledge that someone she and Buttercup had trusted and taken in as one of their own had betrayed them so cruelly... All of this was too much to process at once and made Blossom's head feel funny. It felt like someone had picked her up and dropped her into an alternate reality where nothing made sense anymore.
Buttercup took her sister's hand and gave a firm squeeze, affirming that yes, she was real—all of this was real and Blossom was not crazy. The noirette hadn't come to the same conclusions as her older sister, but she could tell Blossom was reeling from the shock of all that was happening. Buttercup was not usually good at comforting others but she understood that right now, Blossom was trying not to freak out and she needed something to ground her. That 'something' just happened to be her sister and normally, Buttercup would probably tell her something along the lines of 'suck it up,' but now was not the time.
Not when they were about to die.
"M-Ms. Keane," Blossom's voice shook, betraying her fear. She swallowed despite the lump in her throat and tried again. "Ms. Keane, why do you want to turn us?"
"Didn't you hear me?" The woman giggled, her voice now like tinkling bells. It made Buttercup cringe. "This new body, this new life—it's wondrous! You're strong, beautiful, fast... You become so much more than you ever were before. Why wouldn't I want to turn you? This is a gift, my dear."
"Does it scramble your sense, too?" Buttercup blurted. "Because you may be beautiful and strong but you're off your fucking rocker if you think we would ever want to become a disgusting monster like you."
All traces of joy and excitement vanished from Ms. Keane's youthful features and she frowned, the hypnotic blue color of her eyes morphing into a threatening red. Moving too quickly for the girls to actually see, Ms. Keane pinned Buttercup against the wall by her throat. The girl clawed desperately at Ms. Keane's hand, choking and gasping for air. It was then that Buttercup understood just how strong the infected were; all it took was the slightest flex of Ms. Keane's fingers and her windpipe would be crushed.
"You little brat," the older woman hissed, her voice warbled with darkness again. "You always did have a fresh mouth on you and I've had it up to here with your attitude."
"No! Stop!" Blossom cried, moving towards both of them. "Please, Ms. Keane, let Buttercup go, she didn't mean it! Emotions are running high right now, I promise you, she didn't mean it, just please, let her go!"
The former teacher growled at the redhead in warning and Blossom halted, her heart thumping furiously against her ribcage. Ms. Keane looked her up and down, as if trying to gauge whether or not Blossom was a threat, before returning her attention to Buttercup.
"You've already killed my father," Blossom choked, tears threatening to spill over. "Are you really going to kill my sister, too? Please, M-Ms. Keane, don't do this. Just let her go."
That seemed to do the trick. Guilty blue replaced the aggravated red color of the teacher's eyes and finally, Ms. Keane released the dark-haired girl, who coughed and rubbed her sore throat as she stumbled back over to Blossom.
"I owe you one," she muttered. Blossom sent her a withered look but didn't reply.
"Now then," Ms. Keane began to circle them again. "As I was saying—"
"Wait."
The older woman paused in surprise.
"I just want to know," Blossom's voice was pained. "Did he... Did it hurt him?"
"Your father?" At the girl's nod, Ms. Keane frowned. "Turning only hurts at first, but once you get past the initial sting of the venom, it's painless."
"And do we have any other choice besides turning?"
Strangely, another sympathetic gleam flickered briefly in Ms. Keane's hypnotic orbs. "No. You don't."
"It was worth a shot." Blossom smiled wearily. "Hey, Buttercup?"
At her name, the girl looked up, though her older sister's pink eyes were still locked on the two adults before them. The bite wound on the Professor's neck was already healing, his ashen-colored cheeks becoming fuller, more perfect, more alive with each passing minute. It was frightening yet fascinating and, although they both weren't sure what to make of the scene at hand, neither of them wanted the fate that lay in store for their father, to subsist on blood and prey on innocent human beings.
"Yeah, Bloss?"
"It's been an honor to call you my sister." Blossom squeezed her hand and tears welled up in Buttercup's eyes. She opened her mouth to reply, to say those three words she only reserved for family, yet no sounds came out. Instead, she squeezed Blossom's hand in return and it was then that Blossom closed her eyes, a resigned smile curving her lips upward.
"I promise, girls." Ms. Keane clapped her hands together, the moment effectively ruined. "It's just like going to sleep and then you wake up feeling better than you ever did before."
She sounded like a broken record. Blossom and Buttercup were sick of hearing the sales pitch for why it was in their best interest to let Ms. Keane rip into their necks.
Wait a second... Sales pitch, Blossom almost smiled. That just might work!
"If it's not too much to ask, can you give us a moment?" she asked. The older woman frowned, her hands dropping to her sides, and she squinted at the redhead, trying to figure out what the girl was playing at.
"If you run, you won't get very far."
Buttercup wanted to tell the former teacher to shut the fuck up, her painfully-beautiful voice was grating on her last nerve, but she remained quiet, because one, she didn't feel like getting strangled again and two, she herself was wondering what angle Blossom was working.
"No running," Blossom agreed, and Buttercup spied a slight movement on the redhead's part. Realization lit up her eyes at the crossed fingers her sister held behind her back but she lowered her gaze to the floor so Ms. Keane couldn't see and she bit her trembling lip, fighting the grin that threatened to spread across her face. Blossom had a plan and while Buttercup had no idea what it was, she trusted her older sister; her nickname was Leader Girl for a reason, after all.
"Just one moment," the girl continued. "I'd like to speak with Buttercup about all this and I think we should have a moment alone with our dad, a moment to process everything before we, um... Before we let you turn us."
Ms. Keane eyed both of them suspiciously before giving a curt nod of approval. "Very well. I will be right outside, so don't even think about trying anything funny."
The woman was gone within half a second, moving so quickly that Blossom and Buttercup hadn't seen her move at all. Had the infected always been so quick on their feet? If so, it was a wonder they hadn't been killed in the evacuation zone during the raid.
"Okay, so just to be clear, you're not actually considering..." Buttercup didn't even want to finish that sentence.
"I am," Blossom said, but she shook her head 'no.' The mixed message caused the noirette to make a face.
"Huh? Seriously?"
Blossom lifted her index finger to her lips, indicating for her sister to be quiet. She then pointed towards the front door where Ms. Keane was most likely standing guard.
The message was clear: Stay quiet, she can still hear us.
"Of course not," the redhead mouthed, making a face. Buttercup let out a relieved sigh before her gaze accidentally fell on the Professor, and that's when the grief really hit them both.
Blossom's eyes grew watery as she knelt next to the Professor and embraced him, her tears dripping onto his ruined shirt. He was completely still, growing colder and more handsome with each moment; although he was no longer alive to feel their presence, the girls needed this time to properly say goodbye.
Buttercup knelt next to him as well and they both hugged him for a moment, both of them crying and silently mourning the loss of the only parent they'd ever known. It had never occurred to Buttercup that her father might pass away before his time, especially not at the hands of someone they once trusted. Professor Utonium, while a kind and gentle soul, was strong and resilient. He was indestructible and always there when his daughters needed him; the thought of losing him was never even a thought in her mind, and yet... Here she and Blossom were, grieving over his lifeless body. She wasn't sure what hurt more, the fact that her father was gone, the fact that they hadn't been able to save him from Ms. Keane, or the fact that they hadn't been able to at least comfort him in his last moments as a human being.
Buttercup and her sisters were fully grown but they still needed their father; there was so much more wisdom for him to pass down to them and there was more laughter to be had, more meaningless little arguments, more obstacles to overcome together. He had yet to see any of his daughters get married or have children or achieve their dreams.
And now it was certain that none of that would ever come to pass. The person they were mourning over was gone and the body before them, although it would wake up soon, would never be their father again. It would be a bloodthirsty shell that only lived by causing death to everything around it.
"We love you," Blossom whispered, pressing her lips to his cold cheek. "Thank you for everything."
Buttercup wiped at a few stray tears that dribbled down her face.
"I'll miss you, Pops. Watch over Bubbles for us, wherever she may be."
After Blossom recomposed herself, she stood up slowly, careful not to make any noise.
"Do you still have your cell phone?"
"Huh? Oh." Buttercup patted her backpack before nodding. "Yeah."
"Have you heard from Bubbles at all?"
Buttercup cocked her head to the side. Blossom knew she did; any and every text she ever received from the blonde had been reported right to her... and the Professor, of course, back when he was still with them.
The redhead looked pointedly at the front door where Ms. Keane was standing guard outside. "Just, ah... Just wondering."
"What are you thinking?" Buttercup mouthed. Blossom nodded towards the kitchen door that led out into the backyard and suddenly the noirette understood everything.
Fuck the rules. They were going to make a run for it.
They tiptoed to the kitchen and Blossom ducked below the screen door window. She peeked out of it to find the backyard empty, as she'd hoped it would be. Since Ms. Keane was inhumanly fast, they would only have a split second to make a run for it before the woman realized what had happened. Not to mention she might summon other infected...
Blossom opened the back door and they both filed out as quietly as they could, Buttercup ensuring the screen door closed behind herself without even a click. They snuck towards the fence where a few of the panels were missing. Blossom paused when they reached it, trying to figure out how they could manage to squeeze past the narrow opening, when Buttercup frantically tugged at the girl's shirt sleeve.
"B-Blossom?!"
The urgency of her little sister's tone caused the redhead to whirl on her heel. She was about to send a questioning glance towards her when she realized, with great horror, why Buttercup was so desperately trying to get her attention.
Behind them, several infected were poised in a crouching position on the roof, more standing on either side of the house. Each of them were impossibly beautiful and looked ready to pounce, a few wearing amused grins. Others had the decency to look reluctant, as if they wished they didn't have to do this. All of them, however, were watching the girls intently and clearly waiting for their next move.
How did so many of them appear? Did they actually know that they were staying in that house? Did they somehow know Ms. Keane was one of them? Were they in cahoots with her this whole time and that was why they held off on attacking the Utoniums—they were waiting for Ms. Keane's say-so?
Or perhaps they had been followed after retrieving medicine for the Professor. They did feel odd in that old Victorian house... What if something had been watching them and followed them home? The thought sent an unpleasant chill down Blossom's spine.
"There's so many of them," Buttercup whispered. "What do we do?"
"Don't. Move. A muscle." Blossom warned under her breath. She wasn't sure what was holding these creatures back, but she knew they'd spring into action if she or her sister made the slightest movement.
Buttercup wanted to argue that it was stupid to stay put when there were clearly infected surrounding them on every side, but before she could say anything, the screen door was pushed open and Ms. Keane stepped outside into the warm rays of the sun, appreciatively inhaling the fresh summer air.
So these 'vampires' could actually move about in the daytime. Shit.
"I told you not to run," she chided. "But I figured you might be up to something. Please don't make this difficult, girls. You're only prolonging the inevitable."
Buttercup wanted to retaliate with an elegant 'fuck you' but Blossom grabbed her wrist before she could say anything and they sprinted through the fence opening without any form of resistance from the worn paneling. They slipped through just as the infected gave chase, a few of them slamming into the fence with a sickening THUNK.
"Where are we going?" Buttercup managed as they ran. A few infected, presumably smarter than the mindless grunts with a pack-mindset, hopped the fence with ease and were quickly gaining on them.
"I don't know!" Blossom cried. "I didn't think there'd be an army of infected waiting for us!"
They made it through another backyard, then into another where a lone shed sat on the side of the house.
Blossom pointed to it as they continued running.
"There! Hurry!"
It was a terrible idea—they'd be cornered with nowhere to run—but it was all they had. The house was a bit too far and it would be too much of a hassle if the door was locked, plus the infected could get in through the windows... The shed itself had a window on two sides, but at least it was small enough that they didn't have to worry about other points of entry. Before they could make it, however, an infected pounced onto Blossom. The surprised yelp that escaped her was abruptly cut off when they hit the ground and, despite having the wind knocked out of her lungs, she fought as hard as she could to keep the man from sinking his teeth into her neck.
Buttercup didn't even think. She whipped out her pocketknife and jammed it into the man's back, earning a pained grunt from him when she yanked it back out. Her foot planted onto his side and she put all her weight into kicking him off her sister. It worked and for that split second, Buttercup took the opportunity to pull Blossom to her feet and they stumbled towards the shed, the infected man hot on their heels after he recovered.
In one swift motion, Blossom flung the door open and they threw themselves inside, locking the door behind them just in time to hear the infected slam against it.
"Were you bitten?" Buttercup demanded. Blossom shook her head.
"Of course not!"
BANG BANG BANG!
The infected rammed themselves against the door and the walls, fists and claws tearing at the vinyl sliding in a desperate attempt to get to the human beings inside.
"Oh man, we're trapped," Buttercup moaned, tugging at her hair anxiously. "What do we do? What do we do?!"
"I don't know!" Blossom exclaimed, frantically pacing around the small space. What had she been thinking, putting them in this shed? She'd basically signed their death certificates.
Wait a moment... Even if she and Buttercup may not make it...
"Your cell phone!" she cried, grabbing her sister by the shoulders. Despite the dire situation, Buttercup raised an eyebrow.
"What about it?"
"We might not make it out of this, but maybe Bubbles still can!" Blossom yelled, desperately pacing again to find something to protect herself with. The infected were too strong for a sliding lock to hold them at bay for long; they were cornered and it was only a matter of time now. The odds were completely against them, but they would not go down without a fight. "Tell her we love her, tell her the infected have evolved and they can talk and warn her to find somewhere safe before they find her next! Hurry!"
Buttercup practically ripped her backpack in half trying to get to her phone. When she finally grasped it, she turned it on and jammed her thumb on the messaging app. She tapped on Bubbles' name and her fingers flew against the virtual keyboard, a relieved sigh escaping her when she finally hit 'send.' Her relief didn't last long, however, because the infuriating word 'sending' remained for a few minutes, indicating cell phone service was yet again failing them.
Both of the shed's windows (one on the right side, one on the left) were smashed and both girls pressed themselves against the back wall as ash-gray arms reached in to grab at them. Blossom immediately grabbed a nearby flower pot and hurled it at the hands closest to reaching them, the ceramic shattering upon hitting its target. The owners of said arms let out pained howls as they withdrew their injured limbs, ceramic shards embedded in their skin.
"Send it!" Blossom shrieked, and Buttercup sent a glare her way.
"I'm trying! It's taking its sweet-ass time!"
"Please, girls, open up," Ms. Keane's voice taunted from outside. "Come now, you're acting like children. I've already told you it doesn't hurt."
"C'mon, c'mon," Buttercup growled, chewing her bottom lip anxiously. Finally, the 'sending' notification changed to 'sent' and she let out a shaky breath, silently praising God that the message was able to get through, the phone dropping from her trembling hands.
"Okay, it went through; it's up to her, now."
A hand burst through the bottom of the wooden door, cold fingers wrapping around Blossom's ankle. She screamed and kicked her leg in an attempt to get the hand to let go, but it held on firmly.
"Let go, damn it!"
Buttercup jumped to her feet and grabbed the nearest tool that was laying on the bench. Clutching the hammer, she brought it down onto the infected's wrist as hard as she could. A sickening cracking noise pierced the air and the creature screeched in pain, immediately letting go of Blossom and retracting its broken wrist.
And just as suddenly as the chaos had begun, it stopped. The infected stopped throwing themselves against the walls and the door, retracted their arms from the windows, and a heavy silence replaced the previous commotion. Blossom and Buttercup exchanged a worried glance, straining their ears over the loud rush of their pulses to pick out the infected within the sudden, ominous quiet. What were they doing out there? Why had they stopped trying to get in? Was fighting the only way to get these things to leave them alone? So many questions whirled around the redhead's brain that she felt a headache coming on.
They jumped when one of the infected knocked on the door. The action was so unexpectedly human that it was frightening. Was this an example of evolution at work? And if so, how quickly could these things evolve? Were they actually regaining their humanity?
Simply put: what the fresh fuck was going on?
"There's nowhere to run." A new voice, more masculine and almost... human? Who was this?
"Surrender, girls, and come out here," another masculine voice resembling a purr. "We only want to talk."
"Fuck off!" Buttercup growled, and something slammed against the door in response, one of the two males out there snarling in warning. Blossom elbowed her sister and Buttercup hissed, rubbing where Blossom had jabbed her.
"Ow! What was that for?"
Fear and annoyance flashed across the redhead's eyes. "Don't antagonize them! We're already going to die a miserable death, you wanna make it worse by poking the bear?"
"We aren't planning on killing you," the first masculine voice crooned. "We promise."
The hell you aren't, Buttercup thought.
Blossom appeared to be thinking the same thing because she pointed out, "Then why are you so hell-bent on getting to us?"
"Look, it's nothing personal. Just come out here and we'll explain everything."
"We can't."
"You mean you won't," he corrected, whoever 'he' was.
"Of course, we won't. Why would we?" she countered.
"Why do we have to turn in the first place?" Buttercup piped up, hostility absent from her voice for once.
"Come out and we'll tell you."
"Well then, I suppose we'll never know, because we're not coming out," Blossom replied firmly.
"Sooner or later, you'll have no choice. You don't have any food or water and you'll have to go to the bathroom at some point."
Damn it. He had a point. Buttercup gripped Blossom's hand uncertainly.
"What do we do?" she asked. Blossom glanced down to see the girl's lime-green eyes frantically searching her face for answers, much like a frightened child would implore its mother for reassurance. "What's the plan, now? How do we get out of this?"
"You don't," a more feminine voice piped up, her words clear and without the warbled quality Ms. Keane's sometimes had. "Your only choice is to become like us."
The Utonium sisters felt the color drain from their faces at the familiarity of this new voice, but Blossom was the first to recover enough to speak.
"Robin?"
"Hi, girls."
"Robin, you..."
"Yes. I'm one of them now." Pause. "Please come out. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
Blossom exchanged a look with Buttercup. Why were the infected pleading with them when they could just kick the door down? They were certainly strong enough...
"If we become like you, what should we expect?" the redhead asked. Buttercup's head snapped to her sister, a curious scowl on her features.
"What are you doing?" she mouthed, and Blossom held up her index finger to signal she wanted a moment to hear Robin's response. Really, though, she was just stalling for time. Every second spared was potentially a second that could be used to think up an escape plan... Even though there was no possible way either of them could escape this time. The shed was clearly surrounded so even if they tried to make a run for it, they wouldn't get very far.
"Everything becomes so much clearer," the brunette replied. "You're faster, stronger, more beautiful than before. You can see more clearly, you can hear everything so much better... It's all so wonderful, Blossom."
She's starting to sound like Ms. Keane. The redhead shuddered.
"What's the catch?"
"No catch."
"You kill people for food," Blossom pointed out.
"Yeah, a few of us went on a bit of a rampage," she admitted. "But that's only the first few days of bloodlust."
"First few days?" Buttercup blurted.
"Come out from there and I'll explain everything," Robin offered. "But after that, you have to let them bite you."
A shiver crept down Blossom's spine. "Let who bite us?"
"I can't say. They don't want me to tell you."
"Why?"
Robin seemed to hesitate. "I'm not allowed. They outrank me."
Outrank?
"What the hell does that mean?" Buttercup muttered. The brunette heard her, however.
"Just trust me, all of your questions will be answered. I know you guys aren't unreasonable so please come out here and let's talk this out."
"Them?" Ms. Keane's voice piped up. "But I thought I was the one who would—"
"They belong to us," one of the males hissed. "The scientist is yours, but his daughters are ours to turn. Do not question us."
"Y-yes, your highness."
The hushed verbal exchange made Blossom and Buttercup share a glance that clearly screamed 'what the heck is that all about.' Were the infected really sophisticated enough to have formed some kind of hierarchy—specifically a monarchy?
And if so, why were these supposed 'monarchs' so interested in being the ones to turn them?
Neither girl knew what to think about any of this. Everything was twisted; their father had been taken from them, they were very close to losing their own lives, and the very creatures that had torn Townsville and Citysville apart were acting more and more human with each encounter. This had to be some kind of nightmare; no way this was reality.
Blossom exhaled through her nose, trying to clear her head and assess their situation, and Buttercup watched her expression carefully.
"Bloss? What do you think we should do?"
In all honesty, Blossom was thinking they had a one-percent chance of actually making it out alive, and even that one-percent was iffy at best. All this talk of having the girls come out without fear of harm just to hear whatever it was that the infected had to tell them... Could they use this to their advantage? If the infected kept their word and allowed them to walk outside under the guise of answering questions, could she and Buttercup take advantage of this to make a run for it?
Under normal circumstances, yes; however, they were grossly outnumbered and the infected were inhumanly fast, with Ms. Keane acting as a testimony to how quickly they could move. It made Blossom wonder why the others hadn't moved as fast as when Ms. Keane had pinned Buttercup against the wall; were they not as fast as her? Or did they just allow themselves to move more slowly to enjoy the chase?
Blossom tried picturing several scenarios of her and Buttercup making a run for it but none of them ended with them successfully outrunning their pursuers. The only outcomes were certain death or getting turned, and neither option was appealing.
Finally, the redhead simply shook her head at her sister and closed her eyes in defeat, giving Buttercup's hand a sympathetic squeeze. The dark-haired girl immediately understood and she, too, closed her eyes, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.
There was no way out this time; they were going to die in this shed. There would be no reunion with Bubbles or even going home for that matter. This was the end.
Blossom reopened her eyes at her sister's sniffle. Buttercup angrily wiped at her tears and Blossom wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to offer as much comfort as she could in light of the fact that death was literally knocking on their door.
"I'm sorry, Robin," the redhead took pride in the fact that she was able to keep her voice steady when inside, she was terrified of what was to come. Ms. Keane had said it didn't hurt, but who knew if she was telling the truth? There was also the image of City Hall, of all the gory chaos they'd passed by when they were being taken to the evacuation zone; was that their future? Was that what they would do to any humans who entered their path, was that the future Ms. Keane and Robin hyped up: killing innocent human beings just to temporarily satisfy whatever twisted hunger they gained through this transformation?
The choice was clear: it was better to die than become a murderous monster like the creatures surrounding them.
"We can't become like you. We won't. We'd rather die."
Robin sighed. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
"And you, Buttercup?"
Despite her tears, Buttercup managed to keep her voice just as steady and strong as her sister's. "I'm with Blossom one-hundred percent on this. Sorry, Robin."
"I'm sorry, too," Robin sighed. "I'm sorry it had to be this way."
Another eerie silence settled over the shed. Both girls eyed the windows and the door warily, wondering what the infected were planning next.
They didn't have to wonder for long.
With a sudden explosion of growls and snarls, the door was ripped off its hinges. The horde of infected swarmed the doorway and fought to get inside, bodies surrounding the windows and doorway to the point where they blocked the sunlight from entering the small interior. Blossom and Buttercup screamed and kicked at the hands that clawed at them in the dark from every angle, Buttercup swinging a crowbar onto a few heads that managed to get close enough to bite. They fought as hard as they could, kicking, punching, hitting, even swinging whatever objects they could hurl at the monstrosities trying to pull them outside. Blossom had just smashed a pot over an infected's head when cool fingers wrapped around her ankle. She was swept off her feet and yanked towards the mass of bodies clogging the shed entrance, her fingers clawing at the wooden flooring for some kind of purchase. Her pink eyes were wide with terror as she reached for her sister.
"BUTTERCUP!"
"BLOSSOM!" Buttercup reached to grasp her sister's hand and caught it, the redhead's delicate fingers wrapped weakly around her own calloused ones. It was a struggle to hold onto her; whoever had a hold on the redhead was clearly determined to get her away from her sister. "Don't let go! I gotcha, don't worry, just don't let—"
A firm yank and Blossom's hand slipped from Buttercup's. She disappeared underneath the mass of bodies that was still trying to claw their way to her sister.
"NO!" An infected grabbed her arm and she punched it squarely in the face, trying to fight her way through the horde even though she knew she would get bitten. "BLOSSOM! BLOSSOM!"
Tears streamed down her face as she punched, kicked, and shoved but no matter what she did, it was no use; there were too many bodies swarming her. Blossom was gone.
The redhead in question was pulled through the horde easily and ended up outside of the mass of infected swarming the shed like bees around a hive. She tried to claw her way back to it, to get to Buttercup and try to help her sister somehow get out of there, but a cold hand gripped her chin and forced her to look away from the small building.
Their surroundings melted away when her eyes met his. She was shocked to find no malice in his ruby gaze, only tender affection and... Recognition? Did they know each other? He was handsome, so much more handsome than he should be, and Blossom was sure she would have remembered meeting someone as attractive as the young man currently holding her close.
The trance was broken once he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She thrashed and pushed against his chest as hard as she could to try to shove him off, but he tightened his hold on her.
"Relax." His breath tickled her ear and his voice sounded strangely... gentle? His voice lacked any sort of gravel or malice; in fact, it even sounded human. Was he one of the guys from earlier who had tried coaxing her and Buttercup out of the shed?
His lips pressed against her jugular in a chaste kiss and she pressed her hands against his chest.
"W-wait!" she tried. To his credit, he paused to hear what she wanted to say.
Blossom managed to sputter, "Um... W-what happened to talking things out?"
He chuckled and the sound made her blush, much to her own chagrin and disgust.
"We gave you a chance and you chose the hard way. Sorry, princess; game over."
And then his fangs pierced her neck and she screamed shrilly, desperately trying to push him off. She could feel the blood draining from her body and while it wasn't painful—it more or less resembled the feeling one gets when a mosquito lands and begins sucking blood—Blossom didn't want to die, certainly not like this.
Yet the handsome stranger held firm and drank until Blossom was on the brink of death. She was barely hanging onto consciousness, the fear of her sister's fate keeping her from succumbing to the seductive embrace of death, when fire flooded her veins, a blistering heat and agony overwhelming her. Blossom's screams died down and she was pulled into merciful unconsciousness as flames consumed her insides. Her body went limp in the young man's arms as he continued injecting more of his venom into her system. When he was finished, he reached a hand to cup her cheek, the warmth there slowly giving way to the cold he and his kind were known for.
Buttercup just barely managed to break through the crowd when she heard her sister's screaming cease. She stumbled past two infected women that snapped their teeth at her only to see Blossom unconscious in an infected man's arms, a very prominent bite wound on her neck. His lips were stained with Blossom's blood and he used his thumb to wipe the excess from around his mouth, slowly licking the appendage clean as if to savor every last drop of her life essence.
Fury and grief won out over survival instincts and she surged forward, gripping the crowbar in her hand like a lifeline as she sprinted towards the infected bastard who had just killed her sister.
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
Suddenly, a cold arm snaked around her waist before she could reach him and it pulled her back into a firm chest, somewhat knocking the wind out of her in the process. As Buttercup struggled to get breath back into her lungs and weakly fought against the person restraining her, her head was forced to the side. She dropped the crowbar in sheer surprise when cool lips hovered at the junction between her neck and her shoulder, easily keeping her in place even as she used all of her strength to get the infected to release her.
She managed to reach into her pocket again and plunged the pocketknife into his arm; he growled before ripping the weapon out, snapping the object in two within his palm like it was nothing, then flung it aside. Right before her eyes, the wound healed within seconds as if she hadn't just stabbed him and an anguished cry escaped her at the realization that the infected really were indestructible, just as they'd discovered earlier. Buttercup yelped as he forced her head to the side once more, keeping a firmer hold on her.
"You're feisty as hell," a gruff masculine voice murmured. She didn't understand why his voice sounded so perfect and familiar but she didn't have long to ponder it because two sharp points pierced her neck.
She continued thrashing against him but he restrained her with ease. Buttercup tried elbowing him, but he tightened his grip on her to the point where it felt like her ribcage would crack if he gripped her any tighter. She had no choice but to stay still as he slowly drank from her, tears of despair and frustration running down her face. She felt faint by the time he'd had his fill; the blood loss was making her feel woozy and weak, and when he withdrew his fangs, she was barely able to register that he had kissed the wound he'd made.
"Sorry 'bout this next part, babe."
Buttercup was about to demand what the hell he meant—and how DARE he call her 'babe'!—when he bit her again and this time, white-hot fire replaced the blood in her veins. She screamed her loudest and clawed at the man's arm to make him let her go, to make it stop, but it all became too much for her. The unbearable heat consumed Buttercup and she, too, fell limp in her attacker's arms as the world faded to black.
