floratic:

THE  WORDS  RANG  LIKE  ALARM  BELLS i  hope  that’s  not  an  experiment  they  didn’t put  out  of  its  misery  all  the  way …  somewhere ,  eveline  reaches  her  cold ,  bony  fingers  forward ,  placing  them  like  death  sentence  upon  his  throat .  it  could  have  been  you  too .  he  barely  registers  the  hobbling  thing  crushing  its  way  towards  them ,  despite  the  foul  stench  or  rot  and  old  gore ,  his  eyes  only  remain  focused  on  the  flooring  of  the  barn . jackie’s  arms  were  wound  around  him ,  as  if  holding  him  tight  enough  could  save  them  both  from  the  thing .  

finally ,  his  eyes  flicker  up ,  &  they  freeze  upon  the  mass  of  monster  creature  twisting  its  terrible  head  around .  it  was  the  same .  the  same  things  that  crawled  around  the  basement  of  the  baker  house , —– he’d  seen  lucas  pit  them  up  against  the  other  potential  ‘family’ , &  most  of  the  time ,  they  never  made  it  through , always  being  torn  apart  to  gory  meat  shreds  in  a  pool  of  their  own  blood .  but  this  one  was . .  damaged ,  for  whatever  reason  it  was .  its  head  wasn’t  crushed  in  enough ?  didn’t  have  bullets  punched  through  it ?  

he  could  take  it  down .  he  could , if  the  thing  was  in  this  weak  enough  state .  but  it  also  meant  that  he  would  lose  his  consciousness , &  there  was  the  risk  of  harming  jackie  while  his  mind  was  no  longer  his .  eveline’s . . &  she  wanted  them  both  back .  he  couldn’t  take  the  chances .  instead , he  turns  his  head  away ,  closing  his  eyes  for  a  long  moment  before  managing  to  whisper  out  shakily .  ❝ gun – your  gun .  ❞   when  he  opens  his  eyes  again ,  the  rotting  thing  was  hovering  closer  to  them , limping  its  leg  in  a  pitiful  manner  as  it  continued  to  drip  black  sludge  against  the  hay stacks .    ❝  aim  for  the  head ,  that’s  how  they  die .  the  head .  ❞     

“Shit, I-I don’t know if I can-” Her eyes are fixed on the creature like she’s hypnotized by its jerky movements, and for a split second Carson’s words don’t even register in her mind. Gun. GUN. Her hands shoot down to the waistband of her pants, arms and hands trembling with absolute terror, coupled with pressure to get this right, there was only so little time.

She can see it in Carson’s face, the dilemma waging in his mind, the shaky decision of whether he should fight against the monster, but at what cost? So, she takes the choice from him, makes the fight her own cross to bear to save him the fallout of such an action. She rips a small gun out from her belt, only a bit bigger than her hand, but with enough punch to get what needed to be done, well, done. With shaky hands she attempts to aim the weapon at the creature’s head, and she notices that it’s stopped advancing, and is simply standing in place, trying to keep its disfigured body upright as best it could. She couldn’t handle the fact that it seems to be staring right at her, and again, her aim falters. She fires a shot that whizzes past the monster’s head, and she hears it groan, guttural and low, rising from the depths of its gut.

She wipes her hand across her forehead, whisking the sweat off of her brow. The scenario is too familiar; it pains her to remember, but the memories keep flooding back anyway, crashing through the dam of her mind and drowning her consciousness in unwanted photographs of a time best left in the past. She sees her father, looming over her, black-dripping smile as he grabs her by the collar of her shirt, slams her back against the living room wall. A family portrait falls to the ground and cracks, all-too-brilliant symbolism of a family literally cracked apart at the seams. Through the tears she puts a bullet between his eyes, and he’s down, thudding on the floor like a toppled brick house.

Carson was right, she knew the observation all too well - they did always go down with a calculated shot to the head.

“Just like zombies, right?” She takes a breath, forces it in her nose and out of her mouth, and tries to steady her grip as best she can. She squints one eye as she aims, and even has it in her to release a bitter laugh as she remembers just how many zombie-themed comic books and movies she used to consume, during the old times. “Zombies are really played out for me, personally. Kinda silly now that we have the real thing.”

She takes her shot, and fires the shot in the monster’s head. It lurches backward, groans again, louder and sounding like it was in some sort of twisted agony. It staggers for a moment, stump-like arms flailing as though it wanted to reach up and touch its fatal wound, but was physically unable. Then, it collapses, falling to the ground in a cloud of dust and hay that flies into the air, causing Jackie to cough.

She’s quiet, lurching closer to the monster, nudging it with the toe of her shoe, before she nods to herself. “Dead as a doornail.” In any other situation, her analytical mind would have wanted to study the creature, figure out why it was so different than its more violent peers. But she doesn’t get that luxury, not right now, in the middle of their own personal warzone.

It’s then that there’s a horrid knocking on the door of the barn, the wood sounding as though it were being beaten in by a large number of furious fists.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck…!” She looks down in horror at her weapon, still smoking at the tip, then at Carson with her mouth hanging open. “They must have heard the bang!” She rushes over to Carson, hands back on his shoulders as her eyes scan the perimeter of the barn, trying to find somewhere, anywhere to hide, or escape, the latter much preferable to the former.

“It’s gotta be the Umbrella fuckheads, I know it… Either that or some more skittering, black goop freaks. Either way, we gotta move, or we’re just as dead, if not deader, than that poor bastard I just put down.”

  1. helleborae reblogged this from floratic
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