Save me from monsters. [backdated to Marker Plot, tag Wesley]
Fred had a knack for getting herself into trouble. What she was banking on this time was her stronger knack for surviving. She'd been doing pretty well for someone who'd been all the way across town from the hotel when the strange stuff started happening. It had been her own fault: she'd been out taking readings with an instrument that she hoped would help her establish what was making the sky turn red. The readings had gotten stranger and stranger as she progressed toward one point of the town, and she would have almost certainly happened upon the Marker itself... if the Necromorphs hadn't started appearing.
Fred had been lucky up to a point. She'd hid while the worst of the fighting went on, and in making her way from building to building had found a store that sold, among other things, various kitchen goods. Anyplace likely to hold actual weapons had already been ransacked by the time she'd made her way here, but she'd found some good sharp chef's knives -- one of which was now buried deep in the eye of the thing that pursued her down the street.
She'd got it good -- but unfortunately, it had gotten her, first. Her left arm had a ragged gash in it where the thing's teeth -- claws? -- she didn't even know, not having taken a lot of time to stare at it before going for its eyes - had caught her before she had connected with the knife. And even more unfortunately, she'd dropped her communicator at some point, so had missed the announcement about dismembering the thing. What kind of zombie didn't even slow down when you stabbed it in the face?
Fred ran in the direction of the hotel, which wasn't that far off by now, and tried not to wonder if being bitten by one of these things meant she was about to become one. She didn't feel like she might be turning into anything zombielike, but she also didn't feel much other than terror-fueled adrenaline and a strong impulse to find a secure hiding place before that thing could catch her again, or at least get to where the people with actual weapons were.
Fred had been lucky up to a point. She'd hid while the worst of the fighting went on, and in making her way from building to building had found a store that sold, among other things, various kitchen goods. Anyplace likely to hold actual weapons had already been ransacked by the time she'd made her way here, but she'd found some good sharp chef's knives -- one of which was now buried deep in the eye of the thing that pursued her down the street.
She'd got it good -- but unfortunately, it had gotten her, first. Her left arm had a ragged gash in it where the thing's teeth -- claws? -- she didn't even know, not having taken a lot of time to stare at it before going for its eyes - had caught her before she had connected with the knife. And even more unfortunately, she'd dropped her communicator at some point, so had missed the announcement about dismembering the thing. What kind of zombie didn't even slow down when you stabbed it in the face?
Fred ran in the direction of the hotel, which wasn't that far off by now, and tried not to wonder if being bitten by one of these things meant she was about to become one. She didn't feel like she might be turning into anything zombielike, but she also didn't feel much other than terror-fueled adrenaline and a strong impulse to find a secure hiding place before that thing could catch her again, or at least get to where the people with actual weapons were.