I woke up from the best sleep I had in weeks, laying under my thin coat, eyes closed in the already dark room; it was utter silence I was greeted with. Nothing keeping me from drifting in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes, revelling in this rare occasion; usually I awoke to a fit of Gilbert's, or some other misfortune. I suddenly scrambled upright, instantly alert. Something out of the norm meant situations changed; looking around almost franticly, I glazed over the huddled forms of Arthur and his cousin in their far courner. On the other side of the room, Roderich was awake, stroking damp, snowy locks as the patient beside him slept. Or perhaps he had passed? Snatching my worn coat up and shrugging into the stained and soiled clothing, I staggered over to my comrade.
"How is he?" I whispered, squatting down across from the brunette. He had dark circles under his amethyst eyes behind the cracked and dirty frames, jaw set firm for a while as he trained his eyes on the sickly white face. The feverish flush was faint, practically not there, slowly fading away. He was on his back, lying on all the spare clothing we had to keep him as comfortable as we could. I couldn't see a trace of life in his unusually calm, soothed face. He looked young, especially without any facial hair. Honestly, even I had whiskers sprouting from my chin.
Roderich glanced up to me, though I didn't return the gaze. I more of felt him scan over me a moment before sighing, "The fever's broken, and his vitals are still there. Faint, but there. I'm more worried over what that fever did to him. His max was forty-one-point-three; humans can't survive an internal body temperature that high, at least . . . not without serious drawbacks. Brain damage, organ damage, maybe even failure. He may be alright now, but I would like to do tests to make sure he's really alright. I hate not knowing."
Looking up with an attempt at an encouraging smile, I pat him on the shoulder gently, "Every day is always a gamble Monami. We'll just have to wait and see what is to become of him."
"I wish he would at least open his eyes, say something; the quieter he stays, the more worried I become."
I sighed, settling on my rear, sitting across from the Austrian, both of us resting in a tense silence. I couldn't tell him not to worry; he was a doctor by all means, his original occupation having been firmly rooted in medical sciences. He chose the job to help people, save lives, and then he was pulled into this project due to his research of genetic disorders. He confided in me, the only reason he agreed to take the job was because of Gilbert's insistent pleading.
"What's the point anymore?" he suddenly choked, slender fingers digging into his scalp as he brought his knees up to his chest, hiding his face from view, "We're all going to die, it won't be long, we can't live forever, so why even try? Why even dare to hope? First Eliza, then Ludwig and now Gilbert; all of them are being taken from me."
I watched him, attempting to pull out words of encouragement, of condolences, but everything seemed so flat, so little. There was nothing I could do but sit across from him, looking at my hands in shame. I used to be better at this, knew every flowery, poetic word to fix whatever was wrong . . . where was that me now?
Our gloom was disrupted by a small groan across the room, enough to make us both jump by its sudden occurrence. Young Mathieu sat up slowly, blinking bleary-eyed moaning at having to awake from such a soothing, relaxing sleep. I could still see a child in him, the ways he stretched and leaned back, yawning and just barely covering his gaping mouth with the back of his fist. He was becoming thin, just a week after I brought him and Arthur here, as it was I could hear his stomach growl hungrily and see him wince as the hunger pains took effect. He hadn't reached the worst of it just yet, which also meant he had yet to switch into survival mode.
"Bonjour," I greeted him, smiling warmly in the young one's direction. Roderich brought his hands down, following my subtle hints. Mathieu was still young, he was also very fragile. The last thing any of us wanted was our despair and helplessness to transfer across to him. He still had some sunshine to him, some life. Something this world was in desperate need of.
"Bonjour," he greeted back, scratching the back of his head groggily, the wavy locks sticking up at odd angles, "Is there anything to eat?"
"Some crackers and one can of meat left. That's pretty much all we can spare for breakfast. Dinner is going to be a scavenger hunt," I chuckled lightly, getting to my feet and pulling out the last of the food in our supply bag. Fumbling around inside, I was lucky enough to find one more soup tablet for Gilbert. That was it; there was nothing left for us. Roderich and Gilbert had already stripped the room before I even showed up, and then we had scavenged the halls above ground, avoiding the sublevels with all earnest.
Roderich knelt, starting to his feet, "Is there anything wrong Francis?" he asked hesitantly.
I blinked away the haze, my mind wandering to darker situations about to come. Smiling reassuringly, I closed the bag up, "Yeah, just fine. We're going to need to find more rations."
"You mean the sublevels." The Austrian's amethyst eyes gazed like drills into the back of my head. It wasn't even a question, honestly, I never expected him to be so tactless.
"Or perhaps one of the other buildings, get out into the courtyard and look around."
"That's just as dangerous, especially with the hounds out there. And you going alone, completely out of the equation, you know what happened last time."
"Going alone where? What happened when?" a drowsy voice cut into our discussion. Turning, we saw a groggy Arthur rubbing the grit from his eyes, obviously awoken by Roderich's vehement denial.
I divvied up the rest of the food for the four of us as Roderich prepared a cold soup for Gilbert, not looking to the rest of us as he did so. I smiled, trying to brighten our morning, even if we were trapped in a graveyard, "We were simply discussing the prospect of scavenging for more rations. We seem to find ourselves with an empty bag, but there should be more in the sublevels."
"And why can't you just go down a level and search through there?" Mathieu questioned, nodding his head in thanks as I handed him three crackers, one was from my rations. I took pity on the child; no one of such innocence deserved this punishment.
"Gilbert already had," Roderich interrupted before I could begin a response, "He picked them out on his way to escape, but his brother got the rations while we were sort of stuck here."
"So how far in the sublevels are we talking?" Arthur inquired further after an ominous silence, nibbling at the cracker to make it last longer. He had broken one of his two in half and given it to Mathieu who must have realized how babied he was as he ate his larger rations with a sullen look.
"About the third or fourth levels," I settled back in my creaky chair, "Gilbert explained to me that the cafeteria is also at the bottom of the building, so it would have tons of condensed foodstuffs, maybe we can even grab some cooking utensils. A warm meal would be heavenly right about now."
"However, as I said before Francis, it is suicide to go alone, and even in groups of two, it's a little more risk than I'd want to attempt," his dark amethyst eyes locked onto my blue ones with a look of mild contempt.
"But we'll starve if we stay where we are," petit Mathieu spoke up in his quiet little way.
I held my hand out in a showing way, looking back to my comrade, "He understands. Safety is key, Roderich; but when it comes between being a mindless, flesh-eating monster, or dying in this room safe and sound from the slow, painful process of starvation, I'd rather walk out there." He held my gaze a moment longer before looking back to the man on the floor, once more playing with the pale hair in an intimate way. I knew their relationship well; I could easily link it to Arthur and myself. Having grown up together, gotten on each other's nerves, even attempted to kill each other once or twice; but we still were there for each other when it counted. That's the type of relationship those two had, and if I was in the Austrian's position, I may be just as unreasonably paranoid. After all, he lost more than just his best friend . . .
"We're on the ground floor, which means there are more above us and below us," Roderich explained sullenly, though most I had heard from Gilbert on our few escapades out to scavenge. "The upper levels hold less of these creatures, but also less supplies. We kept the Mess Hall on the lowest level."
"So what you're saying is that going up would be easier, but with so little reward it would be pointless," my English friend reiterated.
"But since it was more like a disease, they originated from the sublevels where the infirmaries and the like were and have congregated there in larger groups," I finished off, tipping the seat onto it's back two legs, feeling it buckle under my weight until I slowly lowered it back down.
"But we can shoot our way through, grab the supplies and come back," Arthur shrugged, not seeing the real danger in it.
Roderich, feeding Gilbert through a dropper, looked up irritably, "You don't seem to understand thoroughly the issue. Say Francis and you were to enter the sublevels, once you started killing them off, those above would start filtering down, and the ones out in the marsh not too far away would return. Now let's say the two of you reach the Mess Hall, gather all the food we could need for the next month or two. You wouldn't be able to get back through the way you came because instead of going down to a place where there is a limit to how many you will encounter, you'd be going against a seemingly unlimited hoard. And despite how you feel about me or any other Nazi, I am simply taking note of your well-being!"
"There has got to be some other way out though. Every building has alternative routes in the case that the front door is not an option," I mused aloud, pressing the brunette despite myself. I hated upsetting others, unless of course it was Arthur, but that was simply for childish humour, but this was a serious matter and I really have no other choices present. He fell oddly silent, continuing to feed his patient, but why he suddenly became so tight-lipped was a mystery; perhaps he was weighing the odds, the scenarios that may occur, determining if it was really worth it. I looked to Arthur and him to me, the same look in his eyes that I had in mind. If there indeed proved to be a second passage, we were going, whether it was sane or not. I may be the optimistic one in the depths of Hell, but I refuse to die in this place.
"There is an escape chute that leads straight up, so you would have to climb all five levels at a complete vertical and then you would wind up in the courtyard. If you're lucky, your gunfire will draw them towards the building and down the stairs, allowing you to make a fairly clean run back here. If you aren't, then you'd have a slower trek, and increasingly more dangerous."
"Where is it?" Arthur asked, standing up and performed maintenance on his STEN. He hardly had anything left in it, so guns would be our other objective.
Roderich refused to look up, continuing with his task, the bowel almost entirely empty. "In the storage room, in the back, it looks like a large boiler pipe with a small latch, easy to miss in case of an Allied raid. But I adamantly insist no one goes alone at any point in time. And don't take too long, I hear the dogs out in the yard around twilight hours."
"Entendu," I nodded to him, setting about checking my MAS-36, I didn't have much ammunition left, "Weapons are objective two. What rooms hold armaments?"
"Mostly the security rooms, the soldiers never really had a purpose to be in the room during research or any other time."
"Alright then," Arthur held his gun in a ready position across his chest, "First guns on the way, then food. We can use my bag for the weapons, Francis, you carry the food. Mattie, stay here with Roderich in case something happens." The boy nodded quickly, taking whatever vague responsibility given to him as a commandment of the bible. I chuckled gently, waiting patiently as Roderich reluctantly stood, moving to the controls of the door and turning off the Electro-Guard. Arthur turned to Mathieu and spoke gently to him, "I will return," he whispered with absolute conviction, "you stay safe until we come back."
The boy nodded, his violet eyes shining with determination, "We'll be fine."
I took Arthur's shoulder in a firm grip, "Come on, before Roderich changes his mind." I nodded my own vows to the brunette who gave me a stern look, threatening me in the chance I didn't return. I chuckle to myself, but nod again in understanding. Taking the door knob in my hand, I look back to Arthur, his empty bag on his back as I had out supply bag tossed over one shoulder. Our eyes meet and I hesitantly open the door to the halls.
The door closed behind us with a loud thud as the bolt was slid back into place, followed by a low hum as the current continued through the metal door. I looked to Arthur and nodded before continuing down the hall to the stairs.
"You haven't changed," Arthur muttered, almost immediately after the door was locked shut. His green eyes softened now that Roderich was no longer present, coming down off his guard just a little, though there was no sign of a smile in his face.
"Well," I chuckle lightly, "someone around here needs to keep an optimistic outlook. Now that so many men keep getting lost in this place, maybe they'll send out planes." I readied my assault rifle, locking the clip box into place and preparing for engagement. "Don't be too loud though, we don't want attention drawn to us too soon."
Arthur nodded following my lead as we cautiously made our way to the staircase. The sublevels were darker, having no way to obtain whatever natural light filtered through the dense sheet of clouds. The flight of stairs disappeared into darkness a moment before reappearing in the flickering white light. It smelt horrid down there and only grew worse was we took the steps one at a time, guns raised to our shoulders. I could hear them, their voices strained as they took in ragged breaths, vibrating their shredded vocal cords feebly. If I were to be completely honest, I would question why these creatures stayed in these lower levels, but as I peeked around the courner, I understood why. Many did not have legs, some even limbs, their bodies eaten away by others of their kind. The ones trapped down in this place were cannibalistic.
Behind me, Arthur retched into his hand, trying to stifle the sound as he fell against the wall. He still wasn't quite used to the sight or smell of our enemies. There was a brief silence before they started back up, sounding eager, searching for us. Those with legs limped towards the stairs while the others with only their arms to move with dragged themselves along. I pulled the trigger, embedding a bullet into a Crawler's skull and Arthur tapped, shooting four bullets of his twelve left, and all I had were six left, including the four still in my magazine. We had to move fast, shooting with speed and accuracy. Sweeping the floor and making sure to tap even the ones immobile on the ground. Needless to say, we ran out of all ammunition on the first floor.
"You need a better gun," I teased, slipping into one of the security rooms, watching the corpses strewn carefully as I raided the supply closet. There were missing guns, missing bullets . . . lots of missing bullets. Nonetheless, there was at least something. Apparently what the raider couldn't take, they left.
"It's a submachine gun, what do you expect?" Arthur muttered, following me inside. Placing his STEN on the counter, now useless, he picked out a handgun arranged with a stock, looking at the machine enviously. "A Mauser-C96. Who the bloody hell would leave this?"
"Someone who didn't plan on leaving altogether," I pulled out a rifle, one that matched Roderich's. There were fewer bullets for the Kar-98k, which just went to show who exactly raided this room. Filling the stripper clip, I locked them into place. This gun even had a safety, unlike my own. "We can't stay here; I can hear them coming already. Do you have enough ammunition?"
"Yeah, detachable magazines, and lots of them," he quickly placed them in easily accessible places, mostly his pockets. I prayed none would fall out; bullets were worth more than gold anymore.
We slipped out of the room, met with some struggling up the stairs blindly. Others were tumbling down, luckily impacting their skulls on the concrete floor, committing suicide to reach us with a ravenous appetite. I held back on shooting unless necessary, firing on those coming from the surface while Arthur cleared the way. On the second floor, I left the Englishman to sweep, searching for more ammunition. I found a few boxes more, a few new guns and their compatible bullets. We threw them, empty, into Arthur's bag, running down each level and being careful to use no more than four bullets on one enemy. Despite our new reserves, stripping the lockers meant we'd have nothing left once it was squandered.
The fourth floor was the worst; they were strewn about in all directions, in the halls, in every room, broken, eaten, decayed. Arthur vomited in his mouth, spitting out the bile upon the steps. It was rather rancid down here, and with no widows or doors, it just collected like smoke, growing ever stronger. Noises from above urged us to move onward, leaving many that couldn't move, keeping a wide berth of the incapacitated beings.
"Aim first for the crawlers," I commanded, following my own advice. They had the easiest time down the stairs, slowly dragging themselves down every step while the others would continuously lose balance and tumble to the hard floor. The maggot-ridden fiends with their glowing red eyes . . . I admit I faltered after a while, being reminded of my friend.
"Francis, hurry! We're on a tight deadline!" Arthur snapped, double-tapping into a Crawler's skull. He took my arm, pulling me down the steps to the Mess Hall, my feet fumbling under me.
The cafeteria was deserted, perhaps the only floor of the building not entirely destroyed. No bodies, no blood; yes it was in total disarray, but no one was here when the dead began their second coming. The windows were covered by steel shades, the doors firmly shut and the kitchens dark. I wasn't even allowed to really gain my bearings before Arthur dragged me to the door. He fumbled the doorknob, finding it locked as I sprinted to the other door and checked there. Locked. Whoever had been in charge did not want anyone coming through, making sure not to be accessible by those outside.
There was a sudden loud clanging and screech as Arthur grunter under the weight of the steel sheets. "Get over here and help me bloody Frog! There's no other way in, and we haven't got much time."
I was swift to his side, even with us together straining under the sheeted blinds. They were thicker than one would expect, weighing a good forty pounds and slanted to reflect gunfire of certain firearms. There were loud cracks as skulls impacted concrete as we worked, finally holding it up high enough for me to slip my rifle underneath as I lifted Arthur through the gap. He disappeared into the dark room beyond and I followed, snatching up my gun and letting the sheet fall with a loud clatter that echoed off the walls.
"It's so quiet in here," Arthur whispered, walking through the dark kitchen wryly. I reached out, feeling along the wall until I tapped a button, the lights turning on and revealing the empty kitchen.
Slinging my rifle across my back, I started opening cupboards, pulling out condensed foods in the form of blessed evaporated milk, bread, canned soup, dried fruits, pickled olives and much more. My stomach rumbled an earthquake just looking at it all, mouth watering with hunger and want gnawing at my innards. "MonDieu," I sighed, carefully pulling out the preserved goods, "I wish we could take it all, but one bag is no where near enough."
"And coming back down here in a few months will still be a hassle," he groaned behind me, taking out ration packs from in a refrigerated closet. Guns, food, we could hunker down for a long while. "There's also some other supplies in the back; blankets, clothing, first aid, towels."
"Take them with us," I called, carefully arranging what canned foods we could take with us inside the bag I had brought, trying to fill every minute place inside to the very top. Mostly we stashed away Mess Kit supplies, knowing it would last longer than the rest of the food, but we managed some dried fruit, evaporated milk, pickled walnuts and sauerkraut, but were also forced with contained, clean water. Then, in every spare pocket we could find, towels, clothes we determined would fit each of us well enough, and blanket rolls made of warm wool and cotton were looped around and strapped with belts.
"Now," Arthur huffed, weighed down slightly by his bag, heavy with guns and supplies, "where's that back door Roderich was telling us about."
"It would be in the back, somewhere unobtrusive and believably placed since it was just supposed to look like a large gas pipe." I made my way to the back of the kitchens, looking at the many number of pipes, all quite large before breaking off into smaller pieces to fill the needs. One though, was just big enough for a fit man to slip inside. Running my hand over the cool metal, my fingers hooked into an exceptionally well designed latch. With a gentle click, a small door opened, a metal ladder going up into darkness.
I started reaching towards the ladder only to get my arm caught halfway. I turned to Arthur expectantly, he too looking up into the nothingness, "You have more to carry than me, making you slower and more vulnerable. I'll go up first and clear things out for you."
I watch him a minute before letting my arm drop and his hand releases me as he climbs into the passageway, the stock of his handgun in his bag and the pistol itself slipped into his belt to keep his hands free. Looking up, he starts the slow journey back up. I wait three minutes before following, struggling more under the heavier bag. Had I really gotten soft when we went into hiding? What an embarrassment, I can't even call myself a proper soldier. Overhead, it was a while, but I heard a loud clanging as the exit hatch was thrown open, a dim flicker of light coming from the distant porthole. I heard Arthur scramble out, the metal around me clanging and vibrating underneath my hands and feet.
"Hurry, get up here Frog, the path is clear at the minute," he called down to me. Pushing myself harder to scramble up the steel ladder, I felt that something was not right. We'd be a ways away from the building since the kitchens were built out. The entirety of Sublevel Five was several times larger than any of the other halls which were all rather cookie-cutter in design, shape, and function; so when I reached the exit, finding myself in the middle of a central courtyard with the closest building not being the one we had escaped from but a bomb shelter, I wasn't too caught off guard.
Arthur looked around, gun at ready as we gained our footing, "I see nothing, shouldn't there be at least some loitering out here?"
Before I could speak, I was met with the sound of gunfire. Both of us jumped visibly, eyes wide in disbelief. We never thought about more survivors, the thought of looking for more never crossed my mind, but here we happened upon someone else, my conscious would not allow me to abandon them. "It came from over here," I started running as fast as I could to where the spray of bullets originated. Two guns, no, three overlapped.
"Francis!" Arthur attempted calling me back, but unable to leave me to my whims, followed.
I rounded the courner of a building, pulling my rifle into position; a group of three men were firing upon a hoard that attempted to surround them. I recognized none of them, though I was still at a great distance. One wore a long, beige trench coat, towering over the other two ominously, though handling himself well. I knew his uniform vaguely, linking it to the Russian Red Army. To his left was a shorter man, blonde and clothed in a Nazi military uniform, it was an odd sight to see them working together, back to back, relying on each other like life-long comrades. The youngest was a blonde wearing a uniform very similar to Arthur's perhaps a survivor of his regiment. He was young, slightly hiding between the other two, firing his gun with trembling hands, though his eyes shown with tenacity.
The group closest to me was thinner, having been the few still in the courtyard while the others had rushed our building and caught sound of them. I raised my rifle, firing into the thin wall of lumbering corpses. I caught the attention of the small group, all faltering in surprise at my sudden appearance. "This way!" I called to them, clearing a path.
Arthur reached me by this time, connecting the stock and mowing over the crawlers with the semi-automatic setting. He was too preoccupied keeping us safe from those who took a renewed interest in us while I covered the other three. They ran towards us, the German man running backwards, relying on myself and Arthur to keep him safe; even as we were complete strangers.
"Oh my god," Arthur suddenly faltered, "Alfred!"
The young blonde boy looked to us, having just tapped one who had come too close to his flank. I recognized the blonde hair vaguely, though that stubborn cowlick was one I could never forget. "Arthur!"
"Now is not the time for screaming out Syn," I heard the Russian faintly as they reached us. The German was not far behind.
"We can't get to the main facility," I called over the gunfire.
"The bunker!" the German responded, "I have the code!"
We covered ourselves on the short trek back, having some close shaves with the Crawlers. We were practically backed against the wall as the German typed in his code. There was an audible click as the large lock gave way. He quickly opened the metal door and we slowly slipped inside one at a time. First Alfred, then Arthur, I, the Russian and finally the German who slammed the metal door shut and the lock slammed back into place. It was only seconds before we heard the sound of screeching and hollow thumps from outside.
"Alfred, you bloody git! Where were you!" Arthur demanded angrily, though he repeatedly embraced the taller boy, fingers raking through the dirty blonde hair was though to ensure the young man was real, "Mattie and I . . . we thought you were dead!"
"Is Matthew alright? Where is he?" Alfred hurriedly looked around, as though expecting his brother to appear out of the dark corners of the dim room.
Arthur nodded, "He's inside that building, in a security room with . . . a fellow survivor. They're waiting for us to return with supplies."
"We made our way through the Sublevels and raided the kitchens. You all seemed to appear at a bad time," I chuckled, smiling and holding my hand out to the Russian who was beside me, watching the interaction between the cousins, "Francis Bonnefoy of the FrenchArmee."
He took my hand in a firm grip, "Ivan Braginsky," he smiled sweetly, "Red Army."
I looked to the German who nodded his head in greeting, "Ludwig Beilschmidt."
"Gilbert's brother?"
His blue eyes widened at the mention of his older brother, "You know him? Is my brother alright? Alive?"
"Well . . . uh . . . you see," I muttered, suddenly regretting bringing up the albino, "His condition . . . changed. Roderich has been caring for him for weeks since the incident."
"What happened?" His blue eyes held a gleam of terror, though he attempted to keep composure of himself. For this moment, I wished I hadn't brought him up.
"The antidote is a priority at this point. If any of us were to be bitten . . ."
"I don't like it when your voice trails off," Gilbert huffed, leaning against the table, arms folded across his chest. I sat at the table to his side, taking a small sip of what water we had left. He was so overbearing, hounding on Roderich for as long as I had known. I was growing accustomed to it, but again, it irked me slightly.
The brunette shot a worn look to the albino, sighing irritably. "You know where the antidote is."
"Ja, but we also need supplies. We're looking at empty bags and hollow bellies. The antidote isn't the real issue."
"Survival should be our first priority."
"And your little medicine bottles aren't going to feed us all that well."
They continued bickering back and forth, so irritating and grating on my frayed nerves. I couldn't sleep, they kept entering my mind every chance they got. I was utterly terrified. Every time I was forced on scavenging trips with the albino, I would be his pack animal, vulnerable, slow, but useless to even myself. He had found me in the marsh, delirious and delusional, holding a grenade in my hands as I trudged through the swamp without hope. I owe him everything.
Roderich turned away suddenly as I had apparently drowned them out to think my own thoughts. I startled slightly as he went to the gun cabinet, pulling out Gilbert's rifle. "If you're not going to do it, then I will. We don't have time for this!" He marched to the door only to have Gilbert physically pull him away from the door and into the wall. I jumped again, the chair falling behind me as I quickly raised to my feet, unsure what to do. Amazingly, nothing more violent happened, but Gilbert's lips kept moving, his voice soft but urgent. Daring myself, I stepped closer to hear them.
"Don't even think about it Edelstein. She's still out there, you know it and I know it. And we both know you haven't got what it takes to take care of her," the albino muttered. They were almost the same height, Gilbert just fractionally taller as he pinned the other with one of his intimidating gazes. "You stay here."
Roderich looked away, nodding lightly, his grip on the gun going slack and Gilbert snatched it from him and moved away, grabbing one of our supply bags. "Where are you going?" I asked timidly, not wanting to dig too far into what was none of my business.
"We," Gilbert annunciate, looking back with grin, pretending nothing had happened; like that tense moment was just a figment of my imagination, "Are going scavenging. You know the layout of this floor well enough, right?" I nodded numbly, taking up the bag and my gun. He checked his bullets and gun, making sure everything was still usable. "Alright then, let's go."
Stepping out in to the halls, I felt something different about him. Some sort of resignation. "Is something wrong Gilbert?"
"Nein, not really," he responded absently, looking around casually enough. We had been frugal in stripping our floor of rations and supplies, leaving enough for three young men to last a few more weeks if planned properly. His eyes glanced over the empty floor before looking back at me, "Can you strip the floor? I'm going down the Sublevels. Just get the usual. I'm going after the antidote. Move quickly; try not to fire bullets if you can help it, the less attention the better."
I barely even inclined my head before he was off to the downward staircase around the courner, leaving me to my task at hand. Most of the creatures that reached our floor simply wandered out, leaving the place empty and free of most dangers. Any bodies we found we'd have to watch carefully, untrusting of Death and his reliability. I swore there was nothing spectacular about the trip, besides having the defenceless me alone in this damned place.
The first shots were not long after we split up. Worried, I hurriedly stripped the room of all we could take, but after that, I was lost. Should I return with the goods or help Gilbert? I was about to step out into the halls when they started coming, their endless groaning filling the walkway. To say I was terrified is an understatement. I was petrified, frozen in the room, hiding in a dark courner as they paraded past the open door. I couldn't slip past; I dare not even breathe most of the time, not wishing to draw them towards myself, nor away from my friend and comrade.
I truly am pathetic, willing to let him die for my own safety.
"Ivan was the one who saved me," Alfred spoke to Arthur, eating a piece of chocolate he had in his own bag. So much food, I never would have believed it could exist. "Still, we all sort of worked together and made it this far. I was so worried about you and Mattie."
"You git, running off and winding up in all the wrong places," Arthur sighed, nibbling a cracker, paranoid about shortages just as much as we all were . . . except the young Yankee who happily ate with his mouth contently full.
"It's gotten quiet out there," Ivan spoke softly, "I think the moon has already risen."
"Then the hounds are prowling. We may not be able to get back until tomorrow morning, and even then, they must be lumbering around the yard," I sighed, my knees drawn to my chest for comfort. I glanced to Ludwig who was silently pecking at his own food, mind lost in thought and guilt dragging heavily on my conscious. Still, I smiled, "We may as well hunker down for the night."
It was Alfred who looked at me with a face of disbelief, "But what about Mattie, you mean he's going to have to starve himself for the night because we're scared? I think we should chance it."
"Living is the main purpose of coming here, remember Alfred?" Ivan chimed, smiling with a hint of disapproval.
"I think he's right," Ludwig suddenly broke our settlement, "We all need whatever energy we can get, and one night may be too long."
"But what about the hounds?" Arthur interjected, obviously not wanting another encounter with the beasts.
"Alone we are at their mercy, but in a group we can cover each other well enough to make it, especially with so many of us."
Ivan and I gave him mirrored looks of hesitancy, but he spoke up as I remained silent. "Are you sure you want to risk something this reckless? Your brother cannot be helped if you are dead, if you can even do anything at all."
"I am getting a foul feeling about this," Arthur agreed, fingers resting on his German gun.
Ludwig stood, "I know we can make it! But if the rest of you are just going to sit here-!"
"I'm coming too," Alfred stood, taking out a Mauser HSc as his weapon choice, "Dogs or not, Mattie is waiting for me!"
Arthur sighed, not bothering to correct his cousin that, in fact, his brother believed him dead and gathered his own things, "Git, I'm not letting you out of my sight."
"I guess I am out numbered," Ivan smiled, standing as well. I simply sighed, following suit. I wouldn't be left alone, no matter what waited outside. Still . . . something didn't feel right. It was silent out there . . . too silent. Wouldn't they still be groaning, not fall silent and virtually disappear?
"Oi, Ludwig," Alfred readied his weapon, "Put in the code."
Moving quickly, he covered the distance that we had moved to, away from the door out of paranoia at the time. The lock slammed back and he opened the door a fraction. We all jumped as a bony, decrepit, decaying hand caught the door. Nails were disgusting, long and yellow with dirt and maggots writhing underneath.
"Gott!" Ludwig gasped, not expecting such an assault. He attempted to slam the door shut on the intruding limb, but the creature's unnatural strength pulled it open. I gaped as a face appeared; half rotting, green eyes wide and disturbingly lucid. What were once long, flowing brown locks were now tangled, matted, and stained in blood.
A broad grin lit up her face as she caught sight of the blonde man, a feat we had never before seen. He stumbled back with a cry of terror, all of us moving away besides Ivan, who rushed to the other's aid, aiming his Gewehr-98 to the female. She hurled the door open with unimaginable strength, the steel hinges creaking dangerously as she limped as quickly as she could into the shelter, not hesitating when she simply threw the tall Russian aside into a wall before he could fire; the wind knocked out of him.
Arthur herded Alfred back, unsure what to do. She ignored the rest of us, eyes focused solely on the German man. She laughed; a horrible, ragged, unnatural laugh . . . a daughter of Satan could not have done better.
"I've found you."