Among The Bodies

by BamSaraKilledYou

The military finally came, only they weren't able to save everyone. Pulled away from her group and her chance to be rescued, Zoey has no choice but to head back into the city. The continuing absence of her friends make her realize that not only her sanity is in danger, but her odds of staying alive. But maybe a foolish choice she made in the woods just might come back to get her.

20. Cold Dark Room

Disclaimer: I don't own Left 4 Dead

Among The Bodies: Cold Dark Room

There was an uncertain pause. "Leaving?" I repeated, slightly more accusing than questioning. Doug raised a brow. "Ya rather stay, Bub?" He asked. I shook my head. "No…." He made for the door handle. "Then why the hell we just standing around here for?" His tone rose in the slightest. Olive attention switched from him to me.

"Aaron came here with me, and both of you already said that there was a chance he was tranquilized." Not killed, yet. "We can't just leave him here. I mean, he has to be close by." The couple shared unsure glances before casting them onto me. "That it, if he was even caught in the first place." I quickly added.

Doug sighed, pulling a face that could both be put off as sympathetic and urgency. "If he's been caught, he either dead or thrown in with the rest of the tamed infected. From the looks of how you and him made your entrance, I don't think anybody with a gun would have hesitated, Bub." Doug bluntly said. Something crawled inside my stomach, and threatened to force its way up my throat. A mix of both fear and anger.

Olive gave a smile. "There always a chance that he was never caught" The pity in her voice overlapped the comfort she was trying to give. I looked away from them. Doug turned to face her. "If he was never caught, then he's been long gone. Got no reason to stick around here." His eyes flicked towards me for a brief moment. "If he did, he'd be dead-"

I cut him off. "Alright, I get your point." I muttered, clutching the handle of the knife tightly. "He either dead or gone, you could of just settled for that, you know?" I place my hand over Doug's, turning the handle and opening the door while they backed away. The door was heavier than it looked.

Olive looked down apologetically. "I'm sorry, Zoey." I ignored her, leaning my head out of the doorway taking in the surroundings. It was a wide, hallway with a sharp turn at the end of it, and from an educated guess I could say it led into the same library where I was brought to my knees. "I know how much he meant to you."

I gave her a sharp glance, only softening when I could see the genuine emotion in her features. "It's fine." I muttered, flipping my knife around and holding it vertically. "I've lost people before, everyone has. It's nothing I can't get over." Motioning for them to follow me, we began to make our way slowly down the hallway. "It doesn't matter now anyway." Sure, these last few weeks meant nothing. Just let me throw every hurt and comfort I've had and forget about it.

Olive nodded, not saying anymore. I heard a small squeak coming from the floor. Looking down, I wrinkled my nose. Blood from the man before had somehow covered my combat boots. Wait, scratch that. My stolen combat boots, leaving a very evident bloody footprint on the clean wooden floor. Doug caught the action too. "So much for leaving discreetly." He muttered, cursing quietly when he noticed his own shoes doing the same.

I rolled my eyes, startling myself a little when they watered up as I did so. I wiped it away before they could notice. "Yeah, like the dead body wasn't enough of a trail." I snarked, the sentence full of sarcasm. Doug caught up to my unusually quick pace. "Oh hush, he ain't dead." He replied. I whipped around to face him. "You practically smashed his head open" I commented, my tone of voice surprisingly calm.

Doug shrugged almost innocently. "Shouldn't of back-talked. Fella looked like he ain't never worked a day in his life." The hallway was getting noticeably shorter now. While my body kept its pace, my mind paused for a brief moment. Had we been too loud? Were there twenty heavily armed soldiers waiting around the corner, ready to fire the second when come into view?

My thoughts weren't able to continue as Doug interrupted them. "Hush…you hear that?" Olive and I halted, listening carefully for whatever Doug seemed to have detected. Aside from our own heartbeats, the air was quiet. Furrowing my brows, I turned to the couple. "I don't hear anything-" Olive pushed a finger to her lips. "Shhh, listen."

A little irritated, I obeyed. We stood in unmoving silence. Seconds rolled by and I impatiently sighed, the sound echoing through narrow hallway.

Suddenly, I heard a faint noise, and my ears immediately tuned in on it. It came from the direction of what I had already assumed the library. Olive shuffled nervously in her spot, and Doug seemed to tense. Whatever this noise was, it didn't mean well to them. How could they pick it up first when I couldn't? Was I too lost in my own thoughts? Damn, I really needed to stop distracting myself.

The faint noise grew louder, and Doug spoke in the middle of it. "C'mon, let's get moving." He ushered, taking the lead. I frowned at the action, not sure whether heroism or desperateness to leave, but I let pass as well as his wife. I glanced at the gun she was holding, shaking in her hands. She was terrified, as if she had never even hurt a fly before. I wonder what she thought about all of this.

Peering passed her, I glared at the spot where Doug other arm should have been. It's my fault, nothing can convince me otherwise. They might not think so, or lied to avoid any more unnecessary fighting, but it's the truth. I interfered with their peaceful lifestyle. They took me in as a show of kindness and I left them when they needed aid. Why didn't they just wish me away?

Shaking my head, I pulled myself out of my musing. Now was not the time, not with what's at stake. The hallway was getting shorter with every step and the sounds at the end of it where getting louder and louder until I could distinctively make them out. Finally rounding the corner, Olive gasped and Doug's look hardened, leaving me to gaze in horror.

The room was, for lack of better word: Trashed. Desks were overturned, bookshelves had toppled over, leaving many books scattered across the floor. Part of the railing from the stairs had been broken and seemed to be hanging off by a splinter. The worst of it was that every five feet a body lay, bloody and slashed hollow. In a corner, a Witch chained to a pillar sat, crying out the same sobs we had heard in the hallway. I took a glance at her bloodied claws and gulped.

In the middle of the room, two men stood, both equipped with officer armor and weaponry. I clenched my knife, keeping quiet. They haven't noticed us yet, and if we were careful enough we could either sneak by them or take them out without a hassle. Preferably the latter, since any racket of a fight could possibly attract reinforcements.

I weighed the options and mentally sighed. The room was two open to fully sneak past them and bolt for the door without getting a few bullets in the process. The other option: try my best to eliminate them while Doug and Olive watch from a distance. Something tells me that in their state, they be caught in a heartbeat.

The two men seemed to talk amongst each other, one poking a corpse with his weapon, as if to check if it was dead. I'm going to take an educated guess and say that they were Paradise's cleanup crew. They didn't look to happy, but they didn't look like they were grieving either, like the job was an annoyance to them.

Doug turned to me and we nodded, silently understanding the situation with no need for verbal communication. He slowly held his arm out in front of Olive, telling her to stay behind him. They watched as I crept slowly against the wall, the two men facing the opposite direction. Once I got it where their backs were fully facing me, I slowly made my way to them

They seemed too preoccupied with their idle chatter that my footsteps went unnoticed. I spared a glimpse at Doug, who was ready to fire at a moment's should something go wrong. I gulped, turning back to my soon to be victim and took a final step.

My knife was only halfway into the air when my right foot slipped from beneath me and made a long, bloody streak mark on the floor, as well a loud squeak with it. I caught myself mid-fall, managing to land on my knee instead of face planting, but it was already too late.

The man I was aiming for turned with lighting speed as well as his comrade. He paused, seeing nothing behind him until he looked down, where I in a moment of panic, shoved the knife into his calf. He hollered in pain, his grip on his gun visibly loosened and I made a desperate lunge to pry it from his hands. I was only an inch away when I found another barrel pointed to my forehead.

The second officer kicked me back as my other boot gave way, myself yelping as my back hit the floor. Stalling him for a split second, I kicked at his legs. His aim faltered. The trigger was pulled and a train of bullets was unleashed, landing in the wood beside my head. Another, more singular gunshot echoed through the room and I watched as my attacker's head flung back as he fell. He twitched once and didn't move.

I followed the shot back to Doug, who was just as surprised as I was to see Olive holding up her gun. She had a terrified look on her face, mixing with something else I couldn't place, as if she herself couldn't believe what she had just done.

The relief that flooded me was short lived, replaced by a sharp pain that shot across my skin. I lurched back in surprise, biting back a cry as the pain deepened and made it almost impossible to detect where the injury was. I kneeled on the floor, clutching the wound as I stared up at my opponent, the first man with Theron's knife in his grasp, having ripped it out of his own bleeding thigh.

I shoved him away in a moment of fight or flight induced strength. With his leg injury preventing him from holding his ground, he fell easily, Groaning, he picked himself back up, determined. He began to make his way towards me but fell once again as a bullet entered his right arm. The knife clattered to the ground and I didn't hesitate to retrieve it. Olive shot once more and the man fell to the ground, a hole in his neck.

After the sound of the gunshot faded away, I was left staring as two more human bodies to add to the pile. Groaning in pain, I lifted up my hand to see how I was faring. The slash was a few inches long, mildly deep and began in the middle of my neck, traveling down until it reached the base of it. It would take time to heal, and probably wouldn't leave a scar. That is, if it was treated and I could prevent it from getting infected. Regardless, it still hurt like hell.

I stood up straight, stuffing the knife in my pocket as I did so, turning to see Doug and Olive, expecting them to either head for the door or come to see how I was doing. I narrowed my eyes. Now not only Olive had her weapon hoisted, but Doug as well, both aiming in my direction. My eyes darted between the two, not understanding. "What's wrong?" I asked.

Olive seemed to stutter in fear a little before managing to answer. "Zoey, behi-" I didn't hear the rest of her warning since my attention was directed to the sudden pain I felt on my scalp. My ponytailed was pulled harshly and I let out a cry of pain. My hands flew up to the hand holding my hair, struggling to release myself from my assailants grasp. There was a small click as something metal pressed against the back of my neck. I froze.

"C'est bon de vous revoir, hein, Zoey, était-il?"

I immediately recognized the smooth French accent, images of the radio tower incident coming to mind. "Philippe…" I sputtered. "You…fuck…" Though I know cursing at him wasn't going to help my situation, it wouldn't stop me from giving him a piece of my mind. Although, I need to remember to limit myself, seeing as he has the upper hand.

Olive lowered her gun instantly; her husband however, stepped ahead and made his intentions prominent. "Who the hell are you?" He shouted angrily, before his gaze fell upon me and he softened. "You know him?" He asked, full of disbelief. I would have answered, probably something snarky as well, but the combined pain of my bleeding neck and the hair being ripped from my scalp rendered my voice useless.

"Jurant en présence d'une dame ..." Philippe tisked, "Ungentlemanly" The criticism was muffled behind his mask, not like any of us would have been able to understand him clearly. Doug's anger was joined by confusion, his grip never faltering. He opened his mouth, as if to say or demand something, but with no knowledge of what was just said, saying something wrong might be my end.

They weren't going to risk it, but that doesn't mean I can't take my own chances. "What the hell do you want?" I coughed out, giving up on releasing my ponytail and returning my hands to my bloody collarbone. I felt movement behind me, a silent pause, as if he was thinking on his answer. The air between the four of us was thick, all of us carefully choosing our next move.

Once again, I'm too impatient. If I was to die by him, I might as well confront it. "You bastard." I insulted, hating the feeling of blooding further staining my shirt. "You tricked me. If you wanted us dead, why didn't you kill us at the radio tower?" I asked, biting back a shriek when he suddenly pulled harder. I hesitated, before speaking again. "…Well?" My voice was soft, almost inaudible. "Answer me-"

I cut myself off with a painful gasp. With the gun still pressed to my temple, the gloved hand holding my hair let go, and instead snatched my wrist from behind. Doug and Olive both tensed at the action, holding their ground to see what he would do. Philippe observed my hand, zeroing in on the biohazard mark. I attempted to feebly yank it away, but the click of a gun made me think twice.

"Vous aviez raison…" He spoke softly, as if to himself. He let go of my hand, before wrapping him arm around me, keeping my arms immobile as his gun switched targets. From me, to Doug. In response, Doug bared his teeth, ushering for Olive to stand behind him. The woman stayed in place, however, even so much as raising her own weapon. "Bub…." He trailed off, eyes flickering from me to Philippe. "Start explainin'…"

"You and ze woman may leave." Philippe interrupted, his tone holding a sense of authority. "She however…" He pointed the gun back to me. "Must stay."

I closed my eyes and took in the split second of pure silence. Whatever happens to me doesn't matter, right now, the only thing that did was that they have a chance to escape. Even if it meant leaving me behind.

As I expected, Doug was quick to object. "Fuck to the no, we're not leavin' without her." He shouted, his voice echoing throughout the room. As If to back up his objection, Olive stepped up beside her husband, silent but determined. I didn't know whether to be grateful that they cared this much, or flat out call them idiots for not taking the chance to get away.

"Oh?" Philippe mused, obviously amused by the sight of heroism. "Alright, if you wish so desperately to leave with her…" His arm tightened, constricting my air and causing me to cough profusely, pressing the barrel against my head even harder. "Then you'll have to drag her."

I clenched my eyes shut again and waited. Nothing happened. When I opened them, Doug and Olive shared equally fearful looks on their features, their weapon's held in the air. "Please…" Olive began. I gulped staring at her as she pleaded. My attention shifted to Doug, whom wasn't any different. The recent stress thrusted upon them combined with their age was beginning to show. I took a deep breath. They didn't have to go through anymore.

"Just leave."

My voice was calm and collected, which really didn't belong in a situation like this. As expected, the couple's eye's widened at my request. Philippe's restraint loosened, almost as if he didn't expect it either. "Leave and go North of town." I continued. Something wet and salty fell into my mouth and I realized that I was crying. "Keep going along the fence until you find a gate. Passed the woods is the highway, I left the truck there."

"Bub, have you lost yer damn mind?" The old man asked. I would have shrugged if not for the pain in my neck. "Fuck, I don't know." I murmured, catching my breath. "Probably." Who cares anyway? I wouldn't have lasted much longer, not with how much blood I've been losing these past few minutes. Did I mention that it still hurts like a bitch?

I sighed, ignoring how it became more of a forced wheeze than exhaled of breath. If only Aaron was here.

Doug made a step forward, halting when Philippe returned the gun to his direction. "You heard the lady. Now be on your way, before I decide I'm being too generous." He flicked his head towards the doors. The couple hesitated, eyeing me and him. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I nodded slightly. I know I'm a hostage right now, but couldn't I have been any clearer? It not like I want them to leave, but it's for the best.

Doug carefully guided Olive through the room, stepping over broken corpses as they went along until they reached the door. Their eyes never left us. "Zoey…" Doug muttered his face apologetic. I gulped. I can't remember the last time where he actually called me by my real name. I avoided their eyes. "Don't come back, ok?" I asked softly.

He looked away. "No promises." I closed my eyes, refusing to see Olive's face tear up as she walked out. I didn't open them again until I heard the solid thud of the door shutting and Philippe release he hold on me. I step away and turned to face him. The gun was pointed at me still, but I was losing my ability to care. "You're a fucking asshole, you know that?"

The slight movement in his mask hinted that he was smiling. With his free hand, he held something up. I groaned when I saw the metal. "Stop doing that." The French man twirled the knife around his fingers and I felt a sudden emptiness in my pockets. "That's mine." I commented.

"Not anymore, but since I'm feeling nice today…" He tossed it in my direction. Flinching, I raised my hands to cover my face and miracle caught it by the handle. I made sure the weapon was safe in my grip before glaring at him. "Don't expect a Thank you." I coughed, noticing how dull my left shoulder had become. Was this feeling normal? Or was it something I needed to worry about?

He tilted his head off towards the right, across a room where a different hallway then the one I came out of was. "Go on now, can't keep some of us waiting, now can we?" Swallowing the metallic taste in my mouth, I headed in the direction he was pointing, careful to step over any body that covered the floor. I felt my chest hammer a bit as we passed the Witch, too busy with her sobbing to care about her surroundings.

It wasn't until I almost tripped over a severed arm did I pause and actually observe the corpses. Most of them had been torn open, exposed and even had entrails flowing freely for the world to see. It was a gruesome sight to look at, not exactly the best smell either. But it was how they were ripped open that got my attention.

Only a few had puncture wounds, usually in the stomach, neck or back with the correct width and thickness that would match the description of the Witch's claws. The bodies with holes, no doubt they were hers. But what about the one's with severed limbs and hollowed out ribcages?

Something touched my boot and I looked down, my heart skipping a beat when I watched the head I just kicked roll over to the side. Vomit rushed back up my throat and I choked it down with a heave. Taking a deep breath, I continued on. I wondered how in the hell has Philippe not found any of this disturbing.

"So…" I trailed off. "Where are you taking me?" I asked bluntly. No answer, just the sound of footsteps. I sighed and looked down, watching as every step I took left a bloody print behind. A minute passed and we came into a new area. The walls were white with a solid steel door, similar to one back at the fake police station on each side of the hallway.

I exhaled, noticing how fresher the air got. The AC here was used more often. I stole a glimpse at the gun, getting a good look of the inner barrel before turning back around. This is the fourth…no, fifth time I found myself at the wrong end of a gun this week. I hated this feeling. This feeling of helplessness, vulnerability.

Options ran through my head, but nothing good enough came to mind. A passing thought suddenly came to mind. "Why did you want me to stay?" I asked, mentally preparing myself for any answer. There was pause, then I heard him muffle. "Somebody has to feed ze cattle."

I raised a brow. So I'm being held hostage to go to work? I'm a slave now, apparently. "Cattle?" I repeated, keeping my distance. "You mean like, horses? Cows? Things like that?" I questioned. It wasn't uncommon for survivors to keep farm animals to help supply them with food and other. I remember hearing about safe zones in the South East of the country, no electricity but still had it better than most safe zones.

"No"

His response was simple, leaving me with more questions than answers. If he wasn't talking about animals, the only other 'cattle' that was housed here were infected. I swallowed nervously, remembering the two children in the store window. I guess anything that lives or ever lived could be considered livestock in Paradise.

Looking up from my thoughts, I noticed how dim the lights had gotten. The white walls turned gray under the lack of light. A light bulb flicked down the hallway. A shiver traveled up my spine. "I don't get it." I wondered out loud, throwing safety to the wind. "Philippe, why did yo-" My sentence morphed into a yelp in pain. I threw a hand to the back of my head. "The hell was that for?"

"My name is not Philippe." He muttered an underlying anger in his tone. Furrowing my brows, I glimpse back in confusion. "How come? You told me tha-" He suddenly lashed out. "I told you nothing. I am not zat man." I shook my head. I recognize that voice, that accent. There was no need to see his face to stick him to a name. A name he apparently didn't like.

"Yeah, sure. You're not as nice as the Philippe I met before." I said. Although I was edging dangerously on the chance of being shot, the part of my brain that handled self-preservation just wasn't in service today. I rolled my eyes in response to the silence. "If you're not Philippe, then who are you?"

He went quiet for a moment. "I was once called Kilo." He stopped in his tracks, and ordered me to do so as well. While keeping him aim, he fumbled around his uniform until he pulled out a set of keys, similar to what the warden had before.

Walking to the door on our left, he unlocked it, swinging it open. I leaned over and peered inside. It was pitch black, and the dim light from the hallway provided no help, since the light flooding into the room only gave about a foot's worth of visibility. Confused, I narrowed my eyes. The room was empty, I assume.

Forgetting momentarily about the dark room, I thought back to the second name. "Kilo?" He didn't acknowledge me, not even a nod, but simply pointed the gun to the entrance of the darkness. I shook my head, disobeying. I'm risking my neck, I know. But what do I have to lose?

"Enough with all the names" I confronted. "Who are you, really?" Crossing my arms, I stood my ground. His body language began to change, tensing. The grip on his weapon tightened I imagined his knuckles were white beneath his gloves. "I am Kilo, now go in."

His tone was bone chilling. I suddenly felt very aware of the knife still in my possession but felt no power to use it. He still had me at gunpoint, powerless to defend myself. Glancing to dark room, and back to him, I summoned up what little courage I had left. "No, not until you tell me who you are."

The gun was brought down before I could register what was going on. Instinctively, I dodged. He missed my head, but I felt his hit fall on my shoulder, somewhere below my current injury. Crying out in pain, I held the newly opened wound with my free hand, hating the feeling of blood trailing down my fingers. I would have fallen to the floor if it wasn't for him grabbing the front of my stained shirt.

He held me up to his face. "I am Kilo. Philippe is nobody. Are we understood?" He bellowed his screeching ringing in my ear. While feebly trying to pry his hands away, I stared into the cold unfeeling mask, a trickle of blood flowing down my chin. A good ten seconds passed on our one way stare down, leaving me to process current events.

Sometime during those seconds, it clicked. "You have a multiple personality disorder…"

I was harshly tossed away into the room. The pain spiked when my back hit the floor. I groaned loudly, a searing fire centering on my side. Whimpering, I watched as the light began to slowly fade. Kilo muttered something in French before fully shutting the door, leaving me alone in the dark.

The ground was cold metal, and I could hear the small ping each time a drop of blood fell to the floor. I heaved, exhaling and inhaling. Reminding myself to breath, and normally while I'm at it. Breathing too hard could cause blood to flow faster, harder and there was always the chance I could bleed completely out. But it wouldn't matter anyway, since I've been left to starve and rot in this hell hole.

The pain was intense, overlapping the rest of my senses. It however, failed to muffle the feral growl coming from the corner of the room.

It actually took a moment for me to comprehend that the noise I just heard definitely wasn't human. Nothing of human origin could produce a sound so horrifying, a deep rumbling that further increased my state of panic. It was easy to place the location of the noise, in the corner. Who or what it belonged to, another mystery.

I sat up in shock, biting back a yelp as I did so. Slowly, I stood to my feet. Even as I made sure to rise at a steady pace, I felt the lightheadedness rush to my skull. I huffed, the ache leaving as quickly as it had come. Another animalistic noise emitted from the walls and my chest skipped in fear. Death by gunshot would have been better than being ripped apart, or better yet, eaten.

Fumbling on my feet, I used one side of the wall for support, gliding along it until I found the door. I tried the handle. Locked, alone, starving, and bleeding to death, the perfect dinner for whoever or whatever was in the room with me. No visibility meant having no clue who my killer is.

Fucking wonderful, I'm going to die in Paradise. Heavily exhaling, I turned away, shut my eyes and slid down the steel door, a light thump as I hit the ground. There was no use in trying to stop the bleeding now, it was too late. I'm not sure how much I've lost, but from all of this feather like lightness I was feeling, I'll take an educated guess and say that I don't have much longer.

Cradling my face in my bloodied hands, I ignored how the sickly liquid stuck to my cheeks. The tears were already mixing in with it, making small, clean streaks down my skin. "Fuck, Zoey" My voice cracked, although no one was around to detect it. "It's over."

The so I've been housing for way too long finally made its way up my throat, and I couldn't stop it. Curling my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around myself, sobbing hard enough that I could audition to be a Witch if I had wanted.

Were Doug and Olive ok? Did they make back to the truck? Or were they caught, shot, or possibly beaten to death?

What about Aaron? Where is he now? If he's alive, he's long gone from here. He has no reason to stay. I wouldn't be surprised if he assumed I was dead and left without a second thought. Not like he would have stayed had he known I was alive, right? Infected don't think, they don't feel, and they certainly don't value other's lives aside from themselves, especially if the victim's a survivor.

But what if he isn't alive? What if after I was put down, he was shot, beaten, tortured, killed? What if his body is somewhere in the library, rotting away and I missed it?

I buried my face deeper into my palms. I should never let him stick around. I might not regret saving him in the forest that day, but I should have chased him away when I had the chance. He only neared by before because he felt obligated to, like he owed me a debt. But with the shit I've put him through, that debt isn't worth it. And he knew.

So why did he stay? Was it because I was a reliable food source, but without the work? No, that couldn't be it. Most infected felt enjoyment in a kill, supposedly some sort of adrenaline. Why would they give that up? The more sensible explanation would be that he only thought of it as a game, and all of this was just for his amusement. But if he only stuck around to prevent boredom, why didn't he leave when it stopped benefitting him? When I bit off more than I could chew?

"Dammit Aaron…" I squeaked, tasting the blood on my palm. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…" The apology became a chant, one that I continued to utter until my throat was so raw I could wheeze out another syllable.

I heard the figure in the corner move.

Bringing my face out of my hands, I looked up, only to find black ensnaring my vision. I listened for something, anything to tell me where the monster could have been hiding. It was silent, with no other sound aside from my own quick breaths. I briefly thought of the combat knife, thrown to the floor when I had been tossed in here. Lunging forward, I felt around on the ground until the handle bumped against my fingertips.

Clasping the weapon tightly in my hands, my eyes darted around, dispite the fact that it was still indeed pitch black. My heart was beating rapidly, pounding in my ears. It was all I could hear for the next minute, that it, until a heard a small snarl right beside me.

Choking, I leaped back in fear, only to find that the creature had advanced as I did so. By reflex, I made a kick to where I thought their mid-section would have been, only to have my foot caught and pinned to the ground. I whimpered.

Sitting up straight, I raised the knife into the air, preparing myself. A limb lashed out and caught my arm, slamming it against the floor. My only weapon flew from my grasp, clattering some few feet away. Using my other limbs, I struggled with my attacker. But to no avail, they climbed on top of me, effectively restraining me.

This was it, this is how I die. Another, louder noise came from the creature. Recognizing the noise, it was no doubt an infected, a special infected at that. To be more specific, a hunter. Once you spend enough time with one, you can tell their calls distinctively from the others. Only, this one was different. It wasn't angry, it didn't even sound hungry. It sounded…confused? Almost as if it was surprised by my reaction.

A sad part of my conscious peeked, and the word escaped my mouth before I could prevent it. "Aaron?"

The hunter hunched over me, leaning down into my neck. There was a moment of him just taking in my scent, which I was sure was overcome by the smell of blood. Suddenly, the weight on my limbs lifted, and I was free from his grasp.

He remained on top of me however, not that I minded anyway. In fact, the split second he released my arms, I threw them around his sides, my hands digging into the fabric of his clothes and dug my face into his chest. Fuck personal space, I really needed a sign of life right not, even if it wasn't human life. Relief washed over me to the point I was beginning to drown in it.

Aaron tensed from the unexpected action, but made no move to remove me. Instead, his hands lifted to hover over my sides. It's not like he was uncomfortable with this, dispite his obvious hatred for close physical contact, but something told me he just wasn't sure how to respond. I don't blame him either.

My shoulder and neck were burning, but I was either too busy sobbing to care, or perhaps crying out the pain while it bled from me to him. I could feel the tenseness in his muscles, slowly loosening up with each moment. Once he was relaxed, he allowed me to sit there, holding him in fear that if I let go he would be gone.

With the relief, came the feeling of having to explain myself, dispite the fact that it was never asked for and the receiving party wouldn't be able to understand or answer if he could. But it didn't stop me. "I'm so sorry…" I mumbled into his chest, pressing my nose deeper into the fabric. "This is all my fault…" My sentence was all jumbled together, and I was crying too hard to prevent myself from speaking in the classic high pitch either.

As expected, there was no actual answer from the male. His only response was a neutral growl, which for some reason, was long and soft, almost like a purr. The clawed hands tha hovered over me finally settled on my upper arms, twitching in uncertainty.

I had no problem with this, until one of his claws nicked near my wound, which sent a fiery train of pain through my spine. Pulling away from him, I automatically swatted his hand away. He gave a confused rumble, stopping short when I guess he caught sight of the source of pain.

I thought about his inverted eyes, how they helped him to see in conditions of low light. Could he still see when I was blind? A claw trailed down my neck, careful to avoid the gash confirmed it. Jeez, I thought. I bet I look like a mess.

"This…" I trialed off, thinking. "Hurts like a bitch." I inwardly smiled something I haven't done in a long time. There was no use lying, since it wouldn't have benefitted me anyway. There's always the option that I could lie to myself, but reality was too horrific to try to cover up right now.

There was pause, then something wet and warm dragged along the base of my neck. I flinched greatly in surprise, yelping in pain. "…Aaron?" He continued to drag in what I guessed what was his tongue along my skin, lapping up the blood that had dried in layers. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it didn't feel like spikes either. I wasn't sure whether to push him away or let him continue. It felt like he was trying to help, more than anything.

What started out as small, subtle licks cleaning the blood began to escalate; now taking care of the main problem, the actual gash. There was a short feeling of roughness against the raw skin and I cringed at the sting, my hands instinctively raising and clutching his hair. It was then I noticed that his hat was missing, either lost in the library or forgotten in the room somewhere. It didn't matter; since there was no way I could see his face.

Before long, he had finished. It normally wasn't like him to this, because not only did it creep me out a little, but his history of hatred for physical contact just didn't fit with what just happened. I blinked, expecting him back away after he was done. Instead, he stayed put, observing his work. I lifted a hand to see what he had done as well, feeling along the cut only to find that it had ceased it bleeding completely and the pain, while still there, and was fading away at an alarming rate.

I smiled in thanks, wondering if he could even see it. Although the pain became more of numb ache, there was no way to fix the lightheadedness that accompanied the blood already lost. I sighed, mentally furthering my point.

Suddenly, two clawed hands were on the sides of my face, pulling me forward. I froze in surprise when I felt his tongue glide over the bloody handprints I had left on my cheeks. Placing my own hands on his, I tried to pry them away. "Thanks, but…it's really not…" My words were lost when he pulled me a little more forcibly, this time licking directly over my open mouth.

I sputtered, doing my best to lean back. "Ok, we are not repeating this-" Cut off again by another lick. Only this time, his tongue came dangerously close to getting inside my mouth.

Torn between either cursing him to hell or lashing out, so I did a bit of both. Using the most force I could muster, I pushed his shoulders until he let me go willingly, all while calling out the vilest words that I could think of. Scooting back a bit, I rubbed my face furiously. I would kill for a wet wipe right now.

Although I couldn't see him, he was definitely annoyed, either because he didn't get to finish or he didn't like the name calling. Ok, so maybe 'fucking stupid ass cannibal' was a bit harsh. It still doesn't excuse him for invading my personal bubble. Now that I think of it, why didn't I push him away the first time? And why did he even want to help anyway?

A fleeting thought came to mind, and I lifted up a finger, one still caked with dried blood. Did it taste good to him? Without thinking, I stuck the finger in my mouth, immediately regretting it and spitting it out again. Somewhere in the dark, I heard Aaron make an amused grumble.

I sighed. "I think the blood loss is getting to me" To better prove my point, a spike rushed my head and I laid back. I heard him scuffle closer, crouching near me. The floor was so cold, but I was so tired. My breathing was getting slower and slower.

"Hey, Aaron"

Too tired to snap my fingers, I called for him. The hunter responded with a dull 'hmph'. I patted the floor besides me, "lie down and be a good little pillow." It was quiet for a moment, then the air filled with the sound of his laughter. The sound was contagious, allowing a smile to crawl on my own face as well. But what truly amazed me is that his laughter sounded human. Not sick, not animalistic, not even like he had a sore throat, but his laugh was purely human.

My smile vanished. He isn't human, he's an infected. Keep it straight, Zoey.

Rolling my eyes, I turned over to my side, moaning as I did so. My eyes panged even while closed and I found it getting increasingly difficult to stay awake. Yawning, I curled up on the floor, clutching the fabric of my shirt. I bet I could take it off and use it as a pillow, sleeping clad in my tank top would be just fine with me. But then I remembered how cold the metal was, and how badly the shirt needed a wash. I didn't want to wake up and have the shirt glued to my hair.

Firm warmth pressed on my back and I felt a limb weave itself underneath my head, mindful of the claws. I bit my lip, memories coming back to me. Fuck it.

Instead of catapulting away like a sane person would of, I merely rotated to face the source of warmth and buried deeper into him. The hunter remained still as a statue, unaffected. His arm made a pretty good pillow, I thought. And like before, he's a portable heater. This wasn't as different from the night spent in the truck, only I remember myself being not as hungry.

I faintly remember being pulled closer as I slipped into sleep.

Time: 1:51

What exactly happened while I was writing the Zoey and Aaron scene, you ask? Well…

*so tired* *eats mike&ikes* *writes scene* *goes back and rereads scene* *spits out candy* WTF have I done?

It's things like this that tells me I should really sleep more, and probably not eat sweets so late at night. Let me tell you, I seriously had something else planned that wasn't so…asdfghjk. I must have been sleep writing this or something, I actually shocked myself a bit rereading it. OH WELL. TO THE INTERNET.

Yeah, that has pretty much been my night.

*eats candy* What? *nomnomnom* Want some? *NOMNOMNOM* Then go review.