The monotonous crunch of the snow signaled their every footfall once more; they planned to stop where they had made base just that past night. It was not far, nor should it have taken them long. Yet, even with the sun still in the sky and their mouths silent their path was interrupted.
A low growl sounded from before them, soon joined by others from behind. Sammy turned to look back, Hunters coiled like springs entered her view. Their gaunt figures with highly defined muscles looked as if they had spent their entire lives waiting to pounce at this very moment. She knew that before them, the view would be just as alarming.
Her breath hitched and sputtered as she grew more nervous, the light upon the creatures grew hazy. Fear reignited in her, they were so close, three just 30 yards away. A hand touched down on her shoulder, she flinched, and took a moment to confirm that it was the old man’s. There was a rustle of leather on her side; his other hand had grasped his holster. Squeezing lightly he whispered one thing, “run”.
With that a crack broke the already unsteady armistice and the hunters began their pursuit. She ran as he had directed, fleet of foot as one can be in hardened snow. It broke now as she pumped into it, its frozen upper crust unable to support her weight. More bangs thundered out and she did not turn to look back. In her mind however, she wished deeply for one thing, “Stay safe”.
The noises did not stop; instead they rang loudly, decayed, and then returned like the tides before the moon. And like the tide, it drew things with it. She could see motion in some of the homes, they were awakening. Behind her she could hear them again, it was as if it were just a few nights prior.
She felt that familiar burn once again but this time she did not allow it to be her end; she turned to enter a home. The door was unlocked, the owners must have forgotten to secure it when they left. With a quick flick of her wrists and a shove of her shoulder it swung open to allow her entry, and that she did, rushing into the building.
She was panting, but she could not stop. Jumping she took the steps two at a time, their height almost too great for her strides to handle. As she reached the cusp of the second story a crash resounded out behind her, they had knocked into the small console table shattering the glass that made up its bulk and tipping the steel of its frame.
Her head waved wildly in search of where to go next, she made her decision. Running down the hallway she stopped at the final door, opened it slightly, and then turned around and drew her gun. She waited for a short time as it sniffed its way to the stairwell before speedily bounding up. Its footfalls were so loud, beating like drums in harmony with her chest.
They thummed, and she felt herself elevated beyond her bodily pains till all that remained was a slight tingle in her fingertips and toes. Its head crested the top step and she fired, pulling her finger down on the trigger, and missed. Her arms were sent back recoiling from the force; she could now make out its face.
It slobbered drool down onto the hardwood wood floor not stopping for a moment. The loud crack which had deafened Sammy had done nothing to the hunter; it still came for her. Repositioning her arms she fired again, she missed. It was so very close now, half a hallway separated the two keeping her from certain death. She fired sporadically now in panicked motions, recole ensuring that the gun was no longer even pointing at the hunter. She missed, she missed, she missed, it clicked.
Her fingers shook on the trigger and it clicked once more, the hunter was bearing down on her now. Its mouth was visible, rotten flesh caught between the hunter’ teeth writhed like worms in a bird's beak. The large incisors stained a deep brownish red unlike that of normal plaque found on one’s teeth. Its bulging jaw muscles now clamped like a trap contracting downwards and closing with a thud.
It held the barrel in its mouth; it hadn’t bitten her, but she could feel its hot breath as it exhaled applying a moist sheen to the second knuckle of her pointer finger. The rest of its body was not idle however, its arms still moving. It clawed at her, raking its hardened nails along her arm and chest. Five gashes of red appeared streaming from her shoulder to her forearm and from her collar to her abdominals.
They tingled from the sensation, the pain not yet brought forth into reality. All the same she cried out in an involuntary response, while turning around to enter through her one means of escape. As it dropped the indented gun and lept she slammed the door and it pounded back at her. Meanwhile, she could hear another hunter racing up to the second story.
They clawed at wood and Sammy could hear as the door chipped scraped under the onslaught, raking fingers desperate for the pleasure a warm meal would give. She could not stay, they would soon be through. Eyeing the interior of the room she could make out little except for the window and what the light streaming through the blinds revealed. There was a swivel chair, a desk, and a tower computer; seemingly nothing was of use.
After flinging off her somewhat constricting backpack she opened the few drawers to check if that was the case and found a box cutter knife, unpackaged and littered with small pieces of tape the owner hadn’t bothered to remove. She pocketed it and headed to the window, raising the shades when she arrived.
As is by great luck or fortune she found that it overlooked a section of the porch’s roof which seemed steady. Raising the window she attempted to escape, only to run into the wire mesh of the fly screen. Drawing back and focusing she noticed what she had missed in her panic and withdrew the clips holding it in place. Just as she held the wire frame in hand the door gave way with a thundering crack revealing the two hunters in their hungering stare.
As one of them vaulted through the opening in the door Sammy threw the screen at it just as she lifted herself to the window. Groaning with exertion she slid over the barrier separating the outside from the in as she listened to the screen be torn apart behind her. Lading onto her back on the snowy roof she quickly stood and crawled to the side, burying herself within the snow.
A small puff of breath sent up flurries that glinted under the sun, blinding her. When they cleared but a moment after she saw as the first of the Hunters leaned upon the edge of the sill, inhaling deeply through its reddening nose while turning its head both ways; it was trying to track her scent. She laid facing the doorway footfirst and she watched as it turned in her direction. Soon its eyes, while weak, had complimented the direction the scent had been in.
A small tip of dark blue denim stood out stark against the snow which she used to hide, it had fixated itself on this point. In but a second her time could be over, so close, her eyes began to tear. But salvation came in an odd form, the dieing echo of gunpowder blocks away. It was a sign that there was guaranteed prey elsewhere, the hunters left.
Jumping from the roof it pounded onto the snow below as its partner followed suit, passing by her hidden form. Below she could hear as another joined their ranks from behind the home; they had coordinated, having secured the back entrance. Still, she laid back fighting her natural response to the cold as she waited to confirm their departure.
They did not return, but in some time three consecutive gunshots were heard off in the distance. With a quiet sigh of relief she rose and re-entered the home, the office now a mess with a scratched floor and overturned furniture. Finding her backpack still in functioning order she removed the bullets in an attempt to reload.
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However, as she went to grab her gun in the hallway, which still had teeth indentations around the barrel, she found she did not know how to put the bullets in. Fumbling with the gun she tried to discover how to do so and she, by chance, clicked the magazine release. As it slid out she looked at it for a moment and could not think about the next step.
How would she put the bullets in, which direction would they go, she couldn’t answer these questions. Her head was hurting yet also light and she was having trouble thinking clearly; after a moment she realized the reason behind her foggy state of mind. It was the red slickness which now covered the gun and her own hand, her blood. The coat had prevented her from seeing it and she had forgotten, but now it came back with vengeance.
Subjecting her body to the chilly air within the room she removed her jacket and was welcomed by the gashes upon her body. They had already clotted, scratches really. They would have been much worse if her coat hadn’t been as thick as it was, providing that extra layer of protection.
Lifting the chair up and resting on it for a moment the delayed pain of what had just happened caught up to her. Her lungs burned along with the cuts, her fingers were stiff from the snow, and she was tired. But there was no rest waiting for her now, for even as her beating heart slowed she knew that she was not safe.
Exiting the office she crept down the stairs and headed back to the foyer. Gently closing the front door she listened out for Earl, but no gunshots could be heard. With trembling hands she locked the door and crossed her fingers before heading back up to the second story. Letting out a low pant she graped her knees for a moment, shaking away her winded state. As she remained kneeled over she just looked at the ground and her eyes wavered.
She was tired, she headed into what she assumed was a bedroom and laid upon the bed, sniffing in the scent of the covers. It was the fresh smell of detergent with a hint of a musty undertone, the one which comes from being unused for some time. She imagined it, someone having cleaned their bed just like her, having been ready for sleep, and then hearing the alarms.
Those awful noises, that loud piercing sound which blared into the night. She remembered, her mom and dad grew flustered as she had, they directed her to remain in bed, and she could hear them no more under the noise. Somehow she had fallen asleep in that racket, it was quiet now, but she couldn’t fall asleep.
She drew her sticky magazine from the backpack which laid at the end of her bed and a handful of bullets from her pocket. Slowly toying with the base which bounced back she tried to insert a bullet, it slid in. With a small burst of joy, from something having for once gone right, she let the corners of her mouth rise just slightly as she dug under the covers. She did not care that she was ruining the blankets, the owners had no need of them now.
Slowly she filled it and counted up, one, two, three, and as she hit nine it did not fit. Realizing it was full her hand slid down and she closed her eyes. She was tired, her chest and arm hurt, and she was tired. With her eyes closed gently she hugged the magazine tightly to her diminutive figure and curled up upon the bed.
Soon, light erratic breathing was heard in the room as sunlight trickled in; Sammy slept a troubled sleep under the cold covers. Her mind was plagued by doubts and worries, concerns unable to be abated by her fatigued self. She did not mean to sleep, but sleep she did.
And like a widowmaker she awoke without warning and with a clenched heart; something had broken into the down stairs. The dwindling light splayed itself though the thin contours of the closed shades and allowed her vision of the door. To stay or to go, ignorance or knowledge, what was the right answer?
Whether unwisely or not she chose, and she rose from the bed, attiring herself with the white and now brownish red coat that she had previously donned. Opening the barrier between her temporary sanctuary and the hallway she exited, words about to be born on her lips. At the top of the stairs it passed out quietly into the world, “Is that you Earl?”.
No response was given, and Sammy grew fearful. She looked in her room for what she may use in case protection was needed. The gun stood out, but she remembered its ability to attract the hunters, nothing else seemed to be of use. Yet rummaging through her bag proved to be fruitful as she drew the boxcutter knife; it would have to do.
Small creaks came into existence as she crept down the stairs, the wood contesting with the scuffling noises still originating from the ground floor. As she touched down at the base she surveyed her surroundings, the front door was now cracked open, the consol table was still overturned. Releasing her breath in a quiet hiss, the movement having aggravated her wounds, she followed the noise.
In what seemed to be the dining room a form was hunched over, whining out while a heavy scent filled the air. Its stomach was distended yet its limbs were spindly, almost thinner than her own. It groaned now, and shifted its bent legs backwards, easing itself onto its back.
Sammy watched, unable to speak, as the human figure continued to moan, grunt, and whine in what seemed to be pain. Lying on the ground facing up she was able to look upon its body, the straining of its muscles seeming to be it's only true motive. She did not understand what was happening.
Scaring her, it tilted its head back, a woman's face scrunched and red greeted her; teeth sharp and elongated. It was a hunter, and yet it did not pounce nor move. Eyeing it she circled the laying form and ended up at its feet. Between its legs a head was present, small and weak, with unseeing eyes and a tuft of plastered hair.
It was a baby breaching into this world from which it had ended, a child born of its maker and ender. Sammy grew confused at the sight and questioned the information she had been taught; where was the stork? All this, while the hunter clawed at the floor, scraping as it pushed harder and harder.
Disgusted, fascinated, scared, and concerned all at once, Sammy continued to watch the birthing unfold. As she did so she glanced at her box cutter knife, now realizing how woefully wrong such a contest of strength could have gone if this was a hunter in its prime. Not just that, but what would happen to the baby if she were to try to kill it now, would it die?
These were not things she could answer, and soon, abnormally so, the full baby laid upon the ground and began to cry. Yet there was no shift in noise from without the home, no indication of movement; the scent had intensified. With mounting horror her waiting state was broken as the mother of the child began to shift towards her babe while crying.
Tears streamed down the inhuman face and yet they were not that of emotion; the expression remained the same. Sammy did not know why it would cry but she had an urge to stop its approach towards the unguarded child. With no plan she rushed forth and attempted to remove the threat, pushing the hunter back.
It was still weak from its exertion and simply fell over to once again look up at the bulbs above. She crept towards its head, vulnerable areas open for her to strike. Pushing at the chin so that the neck was laid bare she lowered the boxcutter’s blade and pressed it against the slightly warm skin.
With some resistance it slipped and the flesh broke beneath the pressure. Then, with a fling of her arm, it slid cutting through the neck and exiting once reaching the other side. Sammy shivered, the sensation of the flesh parting beneath her, the hiccup formed from the differing resistance of the windpipe, and the soft gurgle now below her.
As if in realization of her actions she held her fingers along the slit, attempting to close it as if a person still laid in the mind of the hunter. It's cold and empty, yet tearful eyes, shifted back and forth looking at her form as it gnashed its teeth, slowly losing the little power it held. Long after these stopped Sammy still laid upon its deflated stomach, shifting and prodding the flayed flesh as if that could restore what had been lost long ago.
She would have remained that way, dulled and quieted by the world and her actions, if it were not for the cry of the babe bringing her reprieve from her shock. It was a bell that toiled in the dark sea, a droplet in the pond of mind and memory, it brought her back to the now.
With hands moistened by the child's mother and caked on by her own blood she grasped the chilling babe. This was its holy water, for a world of strife and fear its baptism would be awash with red and brown. It huddled into Sammy’s chest and she did not know what to do.
Feeling the child, it was cold and it should be warm. With only those thoughts, all else still numb, she cut the connection between the body and the babe. Then, she rose back up the stairs, giving a glance to the gaping hole where the door had once stood, and entered into the bedroom.
There she slid into the covers, listening to the quiet breath of the child in her arms, and tried to warm its body with her own. Coat unzipped, she rested it against her chest and T-shirt and held it tight. Slowly it warmed and then slumbered. She too fell asleep, staring into the darkness of the covers. As she slept her closed eyes were unseeing, yet flickered as if watching something horrible play out.