Nightshift 42: The Bookworm

[tightsofmight]

Worst Case Scenario: they got stuck in town when night came.

He hated being right.

It started out subtle. Hinamori had barely finished her sentence before he realized that the sunlight had all but died. Things got a little cooler, wisps of grey marking their every breath. Peter turned to the window in horror. A splatter of blood blossomed before his eyes on the glass, welling up from the centre and drying as soon as it was born. Beyond it, the paved street cracked. Half-fleshed hands sprouted from the divide, pulling up even more gruesome bodies behind them.

"GAAAH!!" he shrieked, clutching at his throbbing head. His spider sense was going psycho, harder than it ever had. He tasted blood, leaking in a thin trail from his nose to his lips.

Get up get up get up

He pushed past the sensation, shooting a look up to Hinamori, then to the rest of the store when the floorboards started to creak. The clerks behind the counter didn't look so friendly now.

"Zombies," Peter whispered in disbelief, rising from his chair. "Oh my god, they're all zombies..."

The pain in his head began to fade. He took no solace in that.

Comments

[mitase.livejournal.com]

One second he was struggling to pull himself up, feeling the clammy hands pulling at his ankles and nails digging into his skin (and were they chewing on his shoe?), and then the next they were gone and Hanatarou found himself being shoved up. He didn't bother to question his continued good fortune and instead just used the boost, combined with sheer almost-hysterical adrenaline, to claw his way up onto the roof.

[and up to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/679596.html?thread=55714476#t55714476)]

[idolism]

Being pawed at and not having the total authority to make it stop wasn’t a situation Aidou at all coveted, but this instance was worse than anything else he’d encountered. Alucard had been one thing, the other undead ex-humans another.

This, though… This made disgust burn him from the inside out, made him want to lash out at anything that moved.

Undead hands were grasping at his legs, his ankles and shins and calves, grabbing at his waist, at the ends of the sweater he wore, clutching, touching, groping. Mouths hung open, emitting deafening moans and foul stenches. Trying to bite him, pull him into their sea of mindless hungering.

It was sickening.

The vampire’s eyes flared a feverish red, and he bared his fangs, his impromptu companion forgotten. Now it was just him, alone, and he wouldn’t fall, not after everything! Digging his nails into the window pane above his head, he kicked back one after another, never letting them and their decayed rows of teeth get near enough to have their way. With a lull that would last only a heartbeat, Aidou swung himself upwards, putting all of his strength into his arms. And then when his natural momentum came to an end, it was a matter of propelling himself up feet first, better than most gymnasts. When being hounded by zombies and working with a set of distances where even an inch of miscalculation would mean failure, most gymnasts wouldn’t have been able to flip themselves and catch the edge of their foot on the top of the window, just enough for them to find balance and touch their hand to the roof edge.

Then it was a simple matter of lifting himself up.

Aidou wasn’t like most anything, and he could make it seem easy.

_{[to here]}