The Land of the Dead – 01

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, but belong to Impossible Pictures™.

-8-

The future predator had attacked Christine Johnson with a viciousness that was well-deserved, given the many months of experiments that had been conducted upon it, and the fact that it actually had a very good memory. It was like being savaged by a cross between a bull shark and a circular saw, and when it was over, when it had faded away, Christine just couldn't believe it – she just lay there, even as her senses seemed to be coming back, and did nothing.

"Are you going to lie here for long?" a totally unfamiliar, masculine voice speaks, startling Christine. "Because that would just not be right."

Christine Johnson blinked, and realized that she was apparently alive and lying face down on someone else's bed, her butt up in the air for everyone to see. And when Helen Cutter had captured her, she was wearing a dress...

"Whoa!" was the next thing the man said as Christine Johnson shifted her poise and stood-up abruptly. "There's no need to panic-"

"And I am not panicking!" Christine spoke in a shriller voice than she would've liked. "I am- Where am I?"

"In a tree house," the man replied, more bemused than anything. "How'd you get here?"

"I have no idea," Christine muttered, smoothing the wrinkles on her suit. "The last thing I remember was the future predator-"

"Oh, that probably explains it," the man nodded, apparently understanding what she was talking about. "That's pretty much the last thing I remember too – well, that and Nick Cutter."

Nick Cutter? The name sounded somewhat familiar, but Christine didn't care. "You know about them?" she said slowly.

"Not much," the man admitted. "Know that they've probably descended from bats or rats... but where are my manners? My name's Ryan, and yours?"

"Christine," Christine Johnson replied before she could think it through. "I mean, it's- oh, never mind, Christine will do fine." She exhaled. "Now what?"

"I've no idea," Ryan admitted. "I do know that this bed is not big enough for the both of us at all."

"Um," Christine turned around to take another good look at the bed upon which she had landed – and promptly fell face first on it once again, as one of her high heels got caught between two floorboards.

"I think," Ryan's voice was so carefully devoid of humour, "that some change in shoes and clothing is required, don't you think?"

Christine Johnson began to reply, then she realized that Ryan probably couldn't understand her if she was talking straight into his blanket, and got back up. "Why, do you have any?" she asked, acidly.

"As a matter of fact, in a matter of speaking..."

The tree house may have been spacious, but it was also rather empty: only some furniture (and very simple one at that), and no decorations – the practical minimalist style. The floorboards may have had no splinters, but also no carpeting. They did have gaps, so after some thinking Christine decided to follow Ryan barefoot. Fortunately, she didn't get any splinters or ruined her stockings, but when they arrived at the store room, she was in for a surprise.

"This isn't men's clothing – it's feminine, well, technically speaking," she finally said.

"Yeah, it is," Ryan agreed, easily. "Probably belongs to the original owner of this tree house – it was there when I found myself here. The undergarments are definitely female, but the rest of the clothing can be adjusted to fit me... but that's not your point, is it?"

"No, and probably not yours," Christine muttered sourly, as she looked closer at the clothing – and felt a sudden chill. She recognized this style of clothing – Helen Cutter had been wearing something very similar to this when she had Christine killed. "This isn't your tree house, is it?" she finally muttered.

"That is what I was saying," Ryan began, but then caught Christine's eyes and fell silent. "That's not what it's about, is it?"

"No," Christine seemed to have made a decision. "It's not. But you're going to leave and let me change alone – we're not that familiar yet."

"No, but we possibly can be," Ryan replied in a deliberately teasing tone.

"Out!" Christine snapped, throwing one of her shoes at him, and deliberately missing him by a mile. Fortunately, Ryan caught the hint and retreated, leaving Christine on her own.

"Well, Miss Johnson, what will you do now?" Christine asked herself, even as she put on some Helen Cutter's theoretical spare suits. "Besides possibly ask Helen for a mirror the next time you'll see her? Well, the answer is simple – survive, survive as you always have whenever Sir bloody Lester and his cronies would shove you into another political hell-hole – I'll survive, I'll endure, and perhaps I'll even flourish. The court isn't over, ladies and gentlemen of the jury – Christine Johnson will go on!"

To be continued...