Rain blends with a mix of sharp, reflective glass and odds and ends. At one point I pass through a cloud of smoke and flames fighting against the torrent and find myself face to face with a coffee mug falling parallel at the same speed as I. It proudly proclaims to belong to the World's Best Dad, and in the last few seconds I figure my life will last, I muse about who that father was and where his daughter is now.
And then it all comes crashing down. The glass shatters against the pavement. The rain pours into puddles and deep rivers flow from the gutters. And I, holding this tender girl who has yet to realize what danger she's in, but has drawn her claws in deep cuts across my back, hit and bounce off a gigantic, fleshy mass before rolling onto the pavement myself, still shielding her with my body.
The pain takes a moment to kick in, but it kicks like a mule. My shoulder popped out of place upon hitting the tank, my ribs bruise and gash further as I hit the pavement. And she never lets up clawing me until we come to a stop and I lie, spent, as the rain pours over my face. I can only sob wearily, but she stands up and her gaze flicks to the sky.
The darkness should be too much, but looking up at her I can see a glow to her eyes that gives them an ethereal quality. Her skin, too, has a glow that combats the sickly sunken sight to her. As soon as she notices the rain she seems to calm, her claws drawing inward, as if holding something close to her heart.
She's safe, for now. I lie mostly still in a pool of my own blood and decide that that's enough. There's nothing for me in this world. There hasn't been for a long, long time, and all I've been doing was telling myself that that wasn't true and running from the problem without ever looking back. But it was true, and my soul feels better having spent my last moments selflessly instead of continuing this cycle of killing for my own selfish whims. Above me, she falls to her knees and her eyes rake over my battered form for a moment.
"Get out of here, kid," I groan, sobbing once more from the pain. She doesn't seem to understand, but it feels good talking to her. "There's nothing left for you here. Go on."
Despite my urgings she huddles over my body, unaware of my presence, and starts to sniffle again. Her arms wrap around her body, and I would like nothing more than to get up and hold her, warm her as she shivers, if only I had the will or power.
But I don't. My eyes drift closed of their own accord and consciousness sneaks away from me. The pain is too much and I've lost too much blood. This time, like all the others, I have no reason to protest my death. But this time is different; this time I accept it.
I accept it and let myself dream.
The first girl I met in college turned out to be the coolest. She was younger than me, maybe a bit weird and not the perfect definition of pretty. But the only things we didn't agree on were movies. We would spend nights up together, sometimes entire weekends without being more than an arm's length apart.
I asked her out just before patient zero was discovered. I'm not sure if she really knew what I was asking, but that happy, carefree look to her made my knees want to buckle.
And then came the infection, and my words that I would stay by her side while we got somewhere safe. I must have spent too long packing, I thought, because she started knocking and knocking at my door while I was going through my clothes. I was scared, I never thought I would be just because someone was knocking at my door, but there was this feral way she was beating at it while shouting for me that made me rush to see her.
After I was done I dropped the computer and tried my best to block the sight of her lying in a pool of blood from my mind. I dropped everything and ran for my closet, closing myself up and crying tears of frustration, anger, and pain.
How could I? There was a chance, there was always a chance someone would find a cure. But to do that to her…
The pistols Bill and Francis gave me mowed them down left and right. The more of them I saw, the angrier I got. They did that to her, it was all their fault, and they deserved to pay.
It wasn't until I grabbed that rock tonight to defend myself and came up staring into his lifeless eyes that I remembered her and what I had done, what I had told myself afterwards. They're as much the victims as she was, as I am, but I swear thousands have met their ends to the barrels of my guns.
One witch may not have made any difference, but she made the difference to me. I feel like I can dream happy now. After thoughts of my past and those that have been ended by it, I find myself in an odd and nebulous dream of that girl. She's not crying anymore, she's happy, she's smiling, and it warms me so much seeing that. I want to see it again, there's nothing I wouldn't give to find that bit of heaven. And then she screams.
It pierces my skull and I splash feebly. She screams again. I manage to force my eyes open and push myself a fraction of an inch up. A hundred cuts and gashes along my back split open, but I ignore the fiery pain and search for her.
She screamed loud enough to wake me up, and I quickly find the reason why. The tank shifts. The only noise it lets off is the sound of flesh sliding across concrete; it reminds me of leather against leather. One massive, beefy hand is locked around her slender legs, and the beast draws my damsel inexorably closer to its hulking form. In her terror she slashes at it again and again, but her claws aren't nearly as effective against it as they are against me, and it refuses to budge.
Why her? It could have reached me and done away with me. It could have before, too, but this thing seems intent on doing something to this frightened creature, something I don't want to see the result of. I've mostly accepted the fact that I have to protect her, but I still don't even know why that is. What is it the tank and I see in this girl who appears so frail and broken?
I don't have time to muse on the subject. My damsel needs me, the tank doesn't seem to be letting up or letting go, and she is being drawn closer and closer, yet further and further from sanity and reason. She's like a caged animal in his grasp, and I will my body to move, will it to fight one last time.
In the puddles of broken glass, blood, and rain, my uninjured hand listens to my call and tenses. It's the slightest hint of movement at first, but soon enough it's clawing at the pavement and pulling my torso up. I rest in a sitting position for a second, glaring at the beast who's got my girl in his grip. She's stopped clawing at him, and instead scratches vainly at the concrete in an effort to stop herself.
"Let-" I gasp in pain, rising to my knees, "-her go!" The tank only briefly looks at me. I must not be enough to worry him, even in his current, immobile state. He'll regret the day he underestimated me. First I find a weapon; lying in the pool of blood and water is a piece of the window's frame. It's broken and sufficiently jagged, and I lift it in my good arm. I'm too far gone to care when the bits of glass let in it cut into my palm, it's not like there aren't another hundred cuts like that there already, one more doesn't matter.
The tank, still struggling to move its decimated legs, wouldn't care for such a cut either. Even with my weapon, my strength wouldn't allow for this to even puncture his bones, I have my doubts if it'd even break the skin. But I have to try, and instead of aiming for his unprotected head, I limp through the ankle-deep water and drive the makeshift spear down with all my might.
My target is the skin between his thumb and index, both fingers as wide and long as either of my arms. He doesn't howl, I only half expected him to, and hardly even twitches with the pole nearly a foot down into his hand. The only way I really know it punctures is when I feel the blood spurt out at me, strikingly warm compared to the cool rain. Soon I can the makeshift spear grinding between bones when his arm moves to pull the girl further towards him. But I won't have that, my hand finds hers next, still scratching wildly to get away, and I leverage myself against the beast with my feet, pulling with all my might.
Even now I can see his legs twitching. Perhaps they're mending the bones he crushed when he fell, perhaps he's just ignoring the pain to force them to move. Either way, they've been moving consistently more since I awoke, and I get the feeling they'll be far past my own running capabilities soon enough. I have to get her out, but she's slippery, more so in my loose, bloody grip than his own.
After nearly a minute of struggling under my waning strength her feet pop loose. "Run!" I yell as we both fall to a heap in the water which has raised a staggering amount since we first dropped. I instinctively flinch back to avoid her claws, but the witch and her gaze avoid me. Instead she bolts and I struggle to follow suit.
It's like wading through a pool. Something is wrong around here, I'm not sure if the drains are all blocked or what, but this place is flooding and it's getting worse and worse by the moment. It's still a bit less than a foot now, but soon it'll be too much for any car to handle, which means I have to hurry. If I don't get her out of here, she'll either drown or that thing will eat her.
But, when I exit the alley and round the corner, hot on her heels, I find her huddled in a ball, sobbing, as the deluge washes down on her. She turns to me with wide, frightened eyes when I stumble beside her. I can hardly keep my feet under me; my sides are burning, the arm I'm holding hurts like a bitch and I would do anything to get rid of the pain. Everything is cold and hot, and I feel like I would throw up again if I had anything left in me.
If this was a game of chess the zombies would have declared checkmate a turn ago. There was nowhere for me to go when I was upstairs, but at least then I didn't hurt like I was dying. But of course, I made myself a promise, even if she doesn't care, even if no one else would ever understand.
"What are you doing? Run!" She shrinks back. I fear I've broken her though, looking over me her expression hasn't changed at all since we first met, it's still full of fear and misplaced, misunderstood anger, but there's no screaming rage anymore. She seems calm, if not fearful, for the first time.
Still, she doesn't move, and I can't have that. I move forward, wrap a hand around her bony arm, and pull, forcefully dragging through the water with her in tow. I'm all too surprised when I find myself alive long enough to cross the side of the adjacent building towards employee's parking. Behind us the building shudders one last time, flames shooting out from all sides, and collapses inwards.
Even through the rain I can hear the sob that escapes her throat. It's odd how she doesn't scream or go back to crying, it's more a sob of denial. And when she had collapsed just now she was looking at the flames coming out of the building. I'll muse on that later too, I think as I drag her with me. She's also surprisingly easy to pull, she must not even weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet.
Finally she seems to realize her position and react, swiping once with her free hand. I feel the claws rake across my shoulder, opening yet another deep gash in my body. I must have at least one on ever limb. I must be losing blood like crazy. I won't be surprised even if I collapse after another foot or die in a few seconds, but something draws me forward. It's a truck, a single, solitary truck lying in the parking lot. It embodies escape and safety for the both of us. I just need to get there and get her into it.
But she seems resistant to her needs, and as soon as her claws connect to my arm and I release her with a pained sob, she digs her feet into the water and refuses to budge. I look at her for a second, I can tell how close she is to snapping again just by the wild look to her face. Then I look up, back the way we came and the alley near the collapsed building that burns ever brighter.
I hope I'm making the right choice. It feels too much like a gamble, but one with no other options besides dying here and now.
I leave her. It may be selfish of me, but it's necessary. I nearly collapse to my knees when I pass over the next sidewalk and into the parking lot. The sudden dip and rush of water takes me off balance, but I ignore it and push ever harder towards that truck.
If I was any smarter, I would know that this isn't my best option. I pull out my remaining pistol as I near and smack it against the Ranger's driver window, driving the butt of the pistol down again and again with the last of my dying strength. The odds that this won't trigger an alarm are a long shot. The odds that this thing can even move or fight the flood are a long shot. The odds that I can even get it started are practically infinitesimal.
No, I just have to believe and pray and drive the pistol down with all my force one more time. The window cracks under the force, just a long, jagged line that runs its length. The next hit knocks it inwards a centimeter. At least I'm getting somewhere. Finally, after another half a dozen strikes, it busts inwards with a chorus of broken glass and I throw my pistol into the seat and unlock the door. Just slipping inside it makes me feel all that much better, and that much worse. It feels a dozen degrees hotter in here, but without the numbing rain the cuts in my back and legs flare up as soon as they hit the seat.
My heart sinks as soon as I take a look around. I knew this was a Ranger, but I didn't know this was a new one. These things suck with their electronic keys. Francis could crack this thing, but I don't have a bat's chance in hell.
Keys, I need keys, but I can't find them anywhere. I search the mirrors, glove boxes, CD holders, change and trash holders. I come up frustrated, cold, hurt, and more than anything else, angry.
"Fuck!" I scream, bashing my head against the steering wheel.
Outside, the pavement shakes, bouncing the truck and forming a great wave in the water that splashes against the door. It's time. I just hope I made the right choice. All I can do is open the door and pray to whatever gods are listening once more.
Every move that monster makes is on its fists, slamming them into the ground one by one as if they were feet. Every time it sends out a shockwave, propelling the water along and splashing it up into the cab with me. It doesn't take long before he emerges from the alley, snarling and back in action. It takes the girl a little bit longer to notice him.
She looks up and freezes, I can just imagine her eyes widening and jaw hanging open. But her back is to me and all I can see is her sitting in the middle of the flood.
"Run, you idiot, run." I urge quietly. Where would this person keep spare keys to his truck?
The tank roars, splashing once more in the water. It hits the witch in a wave, finally setting her off once more. I hardly notice her moving, just hearing the random shouts of nonsense through the rain as she rushes to the truck and dives in. I'm taken off guard immediately. I had expected something like her hiding in the bed of the truck, but she dives right into the cab and burrows beneath my legs, pushing me further into the seat.
"Decided to join me after all?" I ask as I pull the door closed as quietly as possible. That beast is still lumbering closer in the mirror, but now my girl is in here with me and I feel a bit safer.
It's only when she pushes against me again that I hear the jingle of keys.