Same setting as my previous two entries, but utilizing a different character. I'll probably post some more of Brad's tale tomorrow.
Chirona pressed her back against the fire-kissed drywall and slowly made her way through the building. The broken glass littered across the floor crunched under her stout boots, slowing her progress. She had to walk slowly to keep from kicking up the shards. Their gentle tinkling often served as a dinner bell to any near by undead. If she was confronted up close, it also provided the possibility of ruining her footing and costing her an escape- maybe even her life. Still, the building seemed to be the one with the most walls in the area and that was important for security, shelter, and protection.
She made her way carefully through the dilapidated building, pausing in each doorway to stop and sniff the air for rot and listen for the uncoordinated shuffle of the enemy. It was coming to night time and the cool air seemed to bring them about greater numbers as they sought to feed. A quiet scuttling drew her attention and she peered hard into the darkness of what had once been a living room. The couches were pushed near the doorway, but whoever had put them there had also shoved them to the side to get in or out unhindered. Perhaps they had run out of food or water, or someone had come home and asked to come inside. Perhaps it was the threat of being cooked alive when the building lit up.
Chirona's were idle musings, with the brunt of her attention focused on the mysterious movements from within. A squeak finally keyed her in. Mice or rats. Satisfied, she crossed under the high, decorative archway and scanned the room. All dark, all still.
The pile of furniture would suffice as a barricade as it had for whoever it was that had used it previously. A heavy, ornate oaken set that had probably cost a small fortune to procure now served as no more than a blockade. Funny how the world worked...
She set her shoulder to the first piece of furniture she encountered, a huge armoir filled with broken china and pushed until with a protesting groan, the wood shifted. The porcelain inside clinked against itself and she bared her teeth and resisted the urge to shush the inanimate objects. She abandoned her efforts and instead moved the couch. She only had to remain safe for a few hours, just until sunrise encouraged the undead to head inside and she could finish her trek the the hospital. She could take a cat nap. Anyone that tried to get in would have to climb over the arched back of the couch and such a move would never cross the rotted mind of a zombie. They would simply push their way in and that would wake her up. It wasn't the best plan, but it was the best she could do for the moment.
Chirona circled the room once, looking for the most comfortable place to set down for what was left of the night. There was a grandfather clock in one corner of the room next to a large, dusty chest. Drawn in like a video game protagonist in search of loot, she made her way over to it. It resisted when she tried to open it and a bit of investigation turned up an ornamental brass lock. She had no mythical minion to unlock it for her and she was not a master thief that could pick it, and although she should have been resting, she drew her hatchet to solve the little problem in the only way she knew how. It took two hits, both of which set her teeth on edge. She remained still for five full minutes to listen carefully for any signs that she'd attracted any unwanted attention.
When she was certain she was in the clear, she licked her lips and cracked the lid on her prize. Inside was a pile of blankets. It was not lost Aztec gold, but in her current situation, a blanket was a more practical gift. She reached her good arm inside and pulled. The shriveled face of a corpse looked up at her. She scrambled back and grabbed her hatchet as the lid snapped closed decisively.
Thirty seconds went by silently. The corpse did not attempt to crawl out of the chest. Chirona crept close and opened the lid again. It looked to be a child, fairly young, though his skin was paper thin and leathery like a mummy's. He still clutched a teddy bear in his tiny, shriveled hands. She pulled the covers back up over his head and closed the lid with a heavy heart.
She wanted to cry, but found that she was just too tired, or that she just did not have any tears left. What kind of world had they been left with, that a child could be abandoned in a box and it was considered a kinder fate? “Sweet dreams, kiddo,” she patted the chest reassuringly and tried not to imagine the scenario that had led him to his current state.
With a sigh, she sank down against the impromptu coffin and closed her eyes. Forehead on her knees, she fell into a fitful asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment