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She shook her head and stumbled forward. It also felt as though she was burning up inside; and yet, just beyond that, a deathly chill was replacing settling into her. She was terrified, and uncertain of what might happen next. No, she knew. She knew from what those had become. She didn’t want to be that. She swallowed, and tried to quell the ache that was rapidly settling into her. She bit her lip, and gave a shiver. All they could do was run. With Molly in the lead, Coach A followed through the mass of high school zombie goers as the slayer staked, parried, stuck down, and made a gruesome way through what was left of Xavier's Fighting Mutants. Arthur did his best to assist Meggan here, but her deathly paleness against the onslaught of twisted familiar faces was as disheartening as it was gruesome. He wasn't even sure where they were going at this point. Was anywhere safe? As it turned out... no. They crossed from the newly improved graveyard (once a football field, surely) into the adjacent parking without much incident. Molly was as gloriously ruthless as she was perky. But that last turn from the hallway to the lot proved one step too far: in front of them was poised an equally familiar, horrific crowd. Arthur took a deep breath. He was the adult here. He had a duty. "Girls... look after eachother. Get into a good college. Have a good life." And with that, Coach A tossed himself into the onwaiting horde as a distraction for Meggan and Molly to make their way to safety. The zombies — all mindless, all fixated at this taller, blonder pound of flesh — eagerly grabbed and grappled for the fresh brains. Now was their chance to make it out. The Coach went out with a smile as the girls ran the fastest qualifying sprint he'd ever witnessed. Then he started to scream. Their run resulted, ultimately in the safety provided by the school itself. The two women soon found themselves through a backstage door to the gymnasium — a room not only protected on each side by heavy fire doors, but also a simple lack of any other living or nonliving bodies interested in old props, chairs, and dust. Their relief, however, was temporary. A pounding soon began to echo on the exterior door. It seems the horde was finished with Coach A. But a slayer made an excellent doorstop. Meggan squeezed her eyes closed, as she sank down the wall, to finally sit down sprawled upon the floor shivering. She should mourn Coach’s sacrifice, but she couldn’t when she felt like this. The gnawing, aching void was rapidly growing within her. With each awful second that ticked by, she was starting to mind it less and less. She was hungry...no, scratch that. She was ravenous. She knew what would make her feel better, if only she gave in. She turned her eyes upon Molly, the only one still in the room. She could have warned her; instead, one word hissed out of her mouth. “Brains?” It was less of a question, and more of a plea for the flesh of the only person in close proximity. She just needed to get up and latch on, didn’t she? Molly tried to ignore Coach A's dying screams but failed miserably as she stood over Meggan. Molly's slayer strength was the only thing keeping the door closed, and even then it wouldn't hold with the number of zombies pressing against it, the door rattling with each slam of their fists. The smell of rotting flesh was enough to make one gag. Glancing down at Meggan, Molly made a face. "I know what I gotta do but I don't want to. Why do I have to do it?" she muttered. She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't fast enough." Then everything — the horde, Molly's poised strike, the very contagion itself — all stopped. |
