Nightshift 66: Pantry 1

[toxicspiderman]

[teleporting from here]

S.T. didn't notice the nausea teleportation usually created. Because there was a sword sticking into him. Attached to a guy that he really didn't want to see. "Shit. Who invited you?" he said, gasping, and reaching his hand back to see how bad it was. It came back drenched in red. He sniffed. Licked. Red cranberry juice concentrate. The blade had gone through his shirt and into the container.

There was at least a bit of blood in there, because the ring had a stone again, underneath the goo. Also the part where there was a line across his ribs that felt like he'd been stabbed. Because he'd been stabbed by a psycho who had just given up his possibly-a-brainwashed-buddy immunity to intentional mayhem. He shoved the ring into his pocket, grabbed the pipe before Zombie Boy figured out he had something in his eye. This time it squelched out like hipwaders from knee-deep mud.

S.T. swung the pipe, which slammed into the rails of the shelf instead of turning Zombie Boy's head into a pop fly ball. Oops. "Little help here, Harvey."

Comments

[dualistic]

As much as Sangamon might have tried to fend the thing off, it wasn't good enough. On top of the searing pain that was running through his middle, Harvey felt as teeth that were too human for comfort bit into his neck, causing him to let out another garbled noise of pain.

"Shit! Fuck. Aghh--!" Harvey jerked away wildly as Sangamon finally pushed the monster backward. He slumped to the ground, the sword still buried in his stomach, and tried to force himself to think. What did he do next? How did he survive this? Did he even have a sliver of a chance?

Maybe this was how it was supposed to end. Maybe this was a way of teaching him that all his need for revenge wouldn't lead anywhere good. He didn't know, but right now things weren't looking so great for him. He clutched at the wall behind him and tried to push himself up, but his knees had given out on him.

"Get me... out of here," he gasped.

[toxicspiderman]

"Bracelet, where the fuck is your bracelet, man?" S.T. had his out, but Harvey wasn't in any shape to be accessorizing. This was that old joke about the bears in the Whites and running faster than your buddy, except with a super-villain and a zombie. And one Sangamon Taylor, notorious terrorist and simultaneous humanitarian, who was too busy trying to see if there was any other way to move Harvey without dislodging the sword.

He shoved a few cereal boxes aside and squatted down next to Harvey. The neck wound wasn't going to bleed out instantly, but it was bad. He pulled his sweatshirt down over his hand and pushed on it. "We can't take it out. It's like a champagne cork, except in your stomach. Take it out, bad news. But all we have to do is keep you alive until morning." And then tie him up for a few nights while he tried to eat the rest of them, but that was minor.