Inside it was deathly quiet, still and pitch black, Shane couldn't make out anything only a seemingly endless black void, but he hopes Michael could see something. Although the absence of light and sound had its advantages, all Shane could hear was the soft sound of himself breathing, which made it easy to hear the squeak of a chair being slid across the floor to his left.
Shane whirls around; knife in hand and Michael is at his back. Shane hears the soft grunt as something lunges at him out of the dark and he swiftly plunges his knife forward, praying he would meet his target; he must because he can feel his knife going into something soft along with the howl of pain the creature gives followed by a vicious snarl. Shane grins in the darkness, Bring it on leech. He thinks as the adrenaline begins pumping and he enters fight mode. He gives the knife a sharp twist before yanking it out.
"Shane, to your right!" Michael shouts. Shane whips around and feels a fist connect with his face with a sharp crack, he barely feels it, the pain only fuels his rage, making him fight even harder and faster. He punches into the dark and is rewarded with a sharp pain in his knuckles as they connect with hard bone. The thing gives an animalistic howl and lashes out with its nails, leaving four deep scratches on Shane's face. Shane barely feels the stinging pain or the blood that steadily drips down his face. Suddenly, it gives another cry of pain mixed with fear a second before falling silent.
"Did you get it Mike?" Shane asks.
"Yep," Michael says from far away panting. "There's at least two more, but I've got them go find the girls."
"Hell no—"Shane begins.
"Shane!" Michael snarls. "We don't have time to argue! I've got this, go and get them out of here! I'll watch your back!" Shane sighs in frustration but complies. Walking slowly, he puts his arms out and attempts to maneuver his way through the maze of invisible chairs and tables still managing to bump into at least five of them and almost tripping and falling twice.
"Duck!" Michael shouts suddenly right beside him, Shane flattens himself to the floor and feels a rush of air as something leaps over him and connects with Michael who grunts in pain. Shane gets up, hesitating, wanting to stay and fight but something shoves him and he stumbles into a chair making it fall with a clatter that completely shatters the silence. "Go Shane!" Michael roars and he feels another shove, it must be Michael, he thinks but he has to resist the urge to lash out at him with his knife.
He continues on, thinking of where everyone could possibly be. There were only two or three other rooms there besides the space behind the counter and the big open area where everyone sat. Oliver's office, a break room, bathroom, and…the huge walk in fridge. That seemed the only place big enough to hold twenty plus people. So all he to do was find the counter, okay should be easy. He walks around blindly for another minute before bumping into the counter.
He puts his hands on the smooth surface and walks like that letting it lead him. It comes to an end after a few feet and he walks forward, hands straight out before they connect with the smooth, cool, metal surface of the fridge door. He feels for the handle and tugs, but its locked.
"Claire?" He says softly, knocking quietly. "Claire? Eve? It's Shane, open up." He hears a short whispered argument behind the door and then the sound of a heavy bar being slid across the door before it slowly opens a crack to reveal Eve's pale, terrified face.
"Shane? Oh thank God! Where's Michael?"
"He's fighting off the vamps, come on, I'm here to get you guys out of here. Let me in." The door opens wide enough for him to squeeze through, if he sucked in his stomach. Just as he's about to step through, a cold hand covers his mouth while another wraps around his waist and yanks him against a cold, hard body. He immediately enters fight mod, kicking, hitting, scratching, he even bites his attacker's hand, but it's no use. The restricting arm squeezes painfully tight, making it almost impossible to breathe.
"Now, now, we'll have none of that." A deep voice thick with a southern accent chuckles, breathing putrid breath in his face.
Shit.