Once L hopped down from the bus, sitting on the floor and letting his feet drop to the ground, he could see more accurately what was happening. A few of what had once been the nurses were out in the road, attacking patients, but they were negligible in comparison to the huge birds that were circling, diving in, dead, or in the process of killing or being killed. The fights themselves made it easy to see that the animals had the advantage of size: they were bigger than the people struggling with them.
Still, standing and gawking at the birds wouldn't do much good. It was important to take in the scene, to understand the variables and try to formulate a quick plan for getting through it, but that was an active process. In this case... it was possible that they could spend the night huddled under one of the buses. No, even that wouldn't protect them from the nurses. They could be trapped by one.
He agreed with his companions that they had to move, but there was still the question of where to go. Heading for Doyleton, or trying to get further, didn't seem to be worth it: even at that distance, patients woke up in their beds. And if he and Lust and Scar—the way they spoke to each other made it absolutely clear that they'd be going in the same direction, but he'd worry about that later—were able to escape into the world, that would only put them all further away from what seemed like their best chance of getting home. The way in, even if it had been involuntary, was likely to be the way out. Landel had brought them; if there was a way to send them home—and there had to be—Landel would know it.
"I think it would be best to try to get back to the Institute."
The cries of the birds, their rotting decrepitude... it really was chilling, almost as if they existed primarily to be frightening. Something about that irritated him, even though he also understood, to some extent, what they could do to him, with those claws and beaks, how they could rip him to pieces. That they were huge and, apparently, bloodthirsty... that was enough to make them terrifying. The fact that there was also a distinct element of the macabre about them just seemed heavy-handed.
There had been information about the birds in Lamperouge's bestiary: some fact about them that was weirder than their existence alone. L tried to remember what it was, but recalling a minor detail like that was harder when the beasts were circling nearby, and when the memory of a few of them lying dead in the courtyard earlier in the week was much more fresh than information he'd read about them a while earlier. Details about how to kill them were more important. They were vulnerable to... to what?
The bird that had attacked Scar skipped Lust on its return trip, and Scar kicked it down. That was it: the bird's attack patterns were like an eagle's, and—
"The base of the wing!" he called out. Any injury there would be the most effective, although severing a muscle or an artery would be best.
A course of action was hard to decide at this point. They could leave this creature where it was and make a run for the Institute, or for Doyleton, or for the woods, but none of those places was really safe, and meanwhile the bird would probably be in the air and attacking again soon. However, if they stayed to finish it off, they'd become sitting targets for its fellows. If the birds were like eagles, they would have sharp vision and could probably see in color.
In color. He could try to keep his arms close to his body to try to cover the garish sweater, but that would hamper his movements enough that it might not be worth it. He felt cold, in the night air. Exertion would probably take care of that.
There was something else about the eagles, he knew, something that had made him take note of them to begin with, because he thought he would be especially vulnerable to them. But with the birds all around him, and patients fighting them with various degrees of success, he still couldn't recall quite what that factor was.
He hefted the heavier bag of food, the one with the canned fruit in it. Its weight was substantial and satisfying and would be more so with the force of motion behind it. Not as good as the weapons he had back at the Institute—something else he'd like to have before attempting any forays out into the world—but better than his own fists or feet.
no subject
Still, standing and gawking at the birds wouldn't do much good. It was important to take in the scene, to understand the variables and try to formulate a quick plan for getting through it, but that was an active process. In this case... it was possible that they could spend the night huddled under one of the buses. No, even that wouldn't protect them from the nurses. They could be trapped by one.
He agreed with his companions that they had to move, but there was still the question of where to go. Heading for Doyleton, or trying to get further, didn't seem to be worth it: even at that distance, patients woke up in their beds. And if he and Lust and Scar—the way they spoke to each other made it absolutely clear that they'd be going in the same direction, but he'd worry about that later—were able to escape into the world, that would only put them all further away from what seemed like their best chance of getting home. The way in, even if it had been involuntary, was likely to be the way out. Landel had brought them; if there was a way to send them home—and there had to be—Landel would know it.
"I think it would be best to try to get back to the Institute."
The cries of the birds, their rotting decrepitude... it really was chilling, almost as if they existed primarily to be frightening. Something about that irritated him, even though he also understood, to some extent, what they could do to him, with those claws and beaks, how they could rip him to pieces. That they were huge and, apparently, bloodthirsty... that was enough to make them terrifying. The fact that there was also a distinct element of the macabre about them just seemed heavy-handed.
There had been information about the birds in Lamperouge's bestiary: some fact about them that was weirder than their existence alone. L tried to remember what it was, but recalling a minor detail like that was harder when the beasts were circling nearby, and when the memory of a few of them lying dead in the courtyard earlier in the week was much more fresh than information he'd read about them a while earlier. Details about how to kill them were more important. They were vulnerable to... to what?
The bird that had attacked Scar skipped Lust on its return trip, and Scar kicked it down. That was it: the bird's attack patterns were like an eagle's, and—
"The base of the wing!" he called out. Any injury there would be the most effective, although severing a muscle or an artery would be best.
A course of action was hard to decide at this point. They could leave this creature where it was and make a run for the Institute, or for Doyleton, or for the woods, but none of those places was really safe, and meanwhile the bird would probably be in the air and attacking again soon. However, if they stayed to finish it off, they'd become sitting targets for its fellows. If the birds were like eagles, they would have sharp vision and could probably see in color.
In color. He could try to keep his arms close to his body to try to cover the garish sweater, but that would hamper his movements enough that it might not be worth it. He felt cold, in the night air. Exertion would probably take care of that.
There was something else about the eagles, he knew, something that had made him take note of them to begin with, because he thought he would be especially vulnerable to them. But with the birds all around him, and patients fighting them with various degrees of success, he still couldn't recall quite what that factor was.
He hefted the heavier bag of food, the one with the canned fruit in it. Its weight was substantial and satisfying and would be more so with the force of motion behind it. Not as good as the weapons he had back at the Institute—something else he'd like to have before attempting any forays out into the world—but better than his own fists or feet.
That cut of Scar's looked nasty.