you’re this hot is bad regardless of the reason. Her mind whirls. Thoughts pulsing through. Ideas that are negated as instantly as they form. She thinks to grab a car and drive the hell out of here but every car she spots doesn’t have keys. That would mean going into one of the open places and looking for them which is just another delay at finding somewhere safe.
Why did she leave the church? The church was safe. It was cool. There was water there and shade. The door was solid and the windows high. Boredom? She’s put her life in absolute direct peril for boredom? She hates herself for that. She hates who she is and the pains in her back, boobs and head. She hates the cramps and the sensation that she’ll start bleeding any second. She hates being a woman and being here in this place.
Then the sun drops and if she felt fear before it’s now magnified tenfold and more. The howls start. The awful screeches from voices straining to drive fear into anything that can hear them.
‘Too many,’ she whispers, her voice lost in the maelstrom of sound. There’s too many. There shouldn’t be that many. There’s bodies everywhere. Why are there so many left? She spins round on the spot. Desperately looking for the direction of the sound but it rolls and echoes, warping any hope of navigating the source. She grins in fear and runs to the closest locked door. She pushes, grunting and shouldering it. No good. Too solid. She runs on to find another. A communal entrance to flats above the shops. The handle turns but the door doesn’t yield. She shoulders it, pushes it, bangs on it and kicks it but it remains closed. She runs backwards, looking up at the windows while waving in the vain hope of seeing someone who can let her in. The windows are dark and empty. Not a curtain twitches or moves. Anyone in this area while be hiding from the howls ripping through the town.
She runs on. Trying door after door while that terrible noise fills her ears. It’ll never stop. She runs faster. Sprinting while searching left and right. Her bag bounces on her back, rubbing her already sore shoulders. Got to find somewhere. Anywhere. She spots a big van. She can hide in the back and survive the night. She goes for it and wants to shout in anger at finding the doors locked securely.
‘Fuck…fuck…’ every door is locked or bust wide with blood and bodies strewn about. She sprints wildly to find a place she can hide in before the howling ends. Her stride opens. Her arms pumping and her ponytail swishing left to right. Every ounce of energy is given to her muscles to run. Her lungs inflate, the muscles burning to pump more oxygen into her depleted body. A corner ahead. The junction is wide. She goes at full speed and it takes seconds, vital seconds for her eyes to send the images they see to her brain that processes them to give context and understanding. Vital seconds where her feet skim the road to propel her onwards. Vital seconds where she runs at them. Towards them.
Her mouth opens to scream as her legs finally get the signal to stop fucking running and she comes to a halt but metres from the back of the horde gathered in the precinct. Heads turned up and all facing away as they give that howl into the sky above.
Time freezes. The earth no longer spins but what must end will end and so they stop howling. One by one with voices that die out. Some keep going with bigger lungs and greater capacity to expend air. The screeches die out until singular voices drop down through octaves to plunge the area into deep silence. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t twitch. Her heart beats a drum, her chest heaves but she fights to breathe quietly, silently and with her mouth open. They stay turned away, almost fixed in the direction they face. She holds still, unable to move, unable to flee with the absolute knowledge that even a scrape of her boot on the road will be heard.
The silence grows. It becomes a thing, real and tangible. Like an additional
Why did she leave the church? The church was safe. It was cool. There was water there and shade. The door was solid and the windows high. Boredom? She’s put her life in absolute direct peril for boredom? She hates herself for that. She hates who she is and the pains in her back, boobs and head. She hates the cramps and the sensation that she’ll start bleeding any second. She hates being a woman and being here in this place.
Then the sun drops and if she felt fear before it’s now magnified tenfold and more. The howls start. The awful screeches from voices straining to drive fear into anything that can hear them.
‘Too many,’ she whispers, her voice lost in the maelstrom of sound. There’s too many. There shouldn’t be that many. There’s bodies everywhere. Why are there so many left? She spins round on the spot. Desperately looking for the direction of the sound but it rolls and echoes, warping any hope of navigating the source. She grins in fear and runs to the closest locked door. She pushes, grunting and shouldering it. No good. Too solid. She runs on to find another. A communal entrance to flats above the shops. The handle turns but the door doesn’t yield. She shoulders it, pushes it, bangs on it and kicks it but it remains closed. She runs backwards, looking up at the windows while waving in the vain hope of seeing someone who can let her in. The windows are dark and empty. Not a curtain twitches or moves. Anyone in this area while be hiding from the howls ripping through the town.
She runs on. Trying door after door while that terrible noise fills her ears. It’ll never stop. She runs faster. Sprinting while searching left and right. Her bag bounces on her back, rubbing her already sore shoulders. Got to find somewhere. Anywhere. She spots a big van. She can hide in the back and survive the night. She goes for it and wants to shout in anger at finding the doors locked securely.
‘Fuck…fuck…’ every door is locked or bust wide with blood and bodies strewn about. She sprints wildly to find a place she can hide in before the howling ends. Her stride opens. Her arms pumping and her ponytail swishing left to right. Every ounce of energy is given to her muscles to run. Her lungs inflate, the muscles burning to pump more oxygen into her depleted body. A corner ahead. The junction is wide. She goes at full speed and it takes seconds, vital seconds for her eyes to send the images they see to her brain that processes them to give context and understanding. Vital seconds where her feet skim the road to propel her onwards. Vital seconds where she runs at them. Towards them.
Her mouth opens to scream as her legs finally get the signal to stop fucking running and she comes to a halt but metres from the back of the horde gathered in the precinct. Heads turned up and all facing away as they give that howl into the sky above.
Time freezes. The earth no longer spins but what must end will end and so they stop howling. One by one with voices that die out. Some keep going with bigger lungs and greater capacity to expend air. The screeches die out until singular voices drop down through octaves to plunge the area into deep silence. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t twitch. Her heart beats a drum, her chest heaves but she fights to breathe quietly, silently and with her mouth open. They stay turned away, almost fixed in the direction they face. She holds still, unable to move, unable to flee with the absolute knowledge that even a scrape of her boot on the road will be heard.
The silence grows. It becomes a thing, real and tangible. Like an additional
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