~Fic: Different Paths
I'M TIRED so here have a short zombie fic. IT'S FLUFFY
Title: Different Paths
Rating: PG I guess for minor language and mentions of violence
Pairing: None!
Warnings: None I can think of
Summary: A group of survivors come across a very familiar zombie in trouble. So that's what happened to her after the infection broke out! Now, what should they do about it?
Notes: Set when the ladies are all infected zombies! This fic reads so weirdly because no one has any proper names, haha. Well except Griffin by luck of the draw (someday I should tell you guys why he's called that), otherwise he probably would've ended up as Douchey or something. And find/replace won't even work perfectly in this for Smoker or Hunter. OH WELL.
"Wait a second. Hear that?"
Griffin threw out his hand, whacking Sparkles audibly in the chest and stopping her in her tracks. She let out an annoyed huff of air, narrowing her eyes at him, but didn't comment. Mousy, however, had been listening, and she stopped when he spoke. It was easier just to listen to him instead of argue, even if sometimes she didn't think he knew as much about this as he said.
She looked upwards towards the night sky, like that would improve her hearing somehow, and there. Harsh, ragged coughing and wheezing. As unbelievable as it seemed to her, she'd been doing this long enough to recognize what that meant. It was one of the special zombies, the unusual ones that only appeared every now and then and seemed to have a loose grasp on sentience still. The real dangerous ones. Hacking like this meant a Smoker was in the area, lurking somewhere in the tangled mess of broken buildings and empty streets, although the lack of furious screams meant it hadn't spotted them yet.
"Smoker somewhere nearby..." Sparkles readied her shotgun, frowning. She did not like the special infected, like she took their existence almost personally. Mousy wasn't sure why, but she didn't want to ask too many questions... it didn't take much to set Sparkles off and Mousy hated conflict, and it'd make sense to hate a zombie, wouldn't it? Especially if they tried to kill you all the time. And they did often go for Sparkles.
As had been the case for most of her life, people tended to overlook Mousy.
Griffin pointed across the street at an abandoned warehouse with his pistol, taking out a few lingering commons outside as he did so. He did it automatically, without any change in his expression except a minute tightening around his eyes as he focused on them in the dark. Sometimes it made Mousy uncomfortable how little this seemed to bother him, or maybe it was just how much all this still bothered her. How guns never felt right in her hands. She hadn't told them that though.
She didn't tell them much of anything, really. She learned quickly enough that they didn't listen.
"It's coming from in there. Yeah... can definitely see smoke in there."
Mousy peered into the darkness as best she could, and she might have made out some faint green wisps of smoke, but it was hard to tell. Her vision wasn't the best.
"We should take care of it before it comes after us. You know how they are," Sparkles said. Griffin rolled his eyes at her suggestion.
"Obviously." With an annoyed click of his tongue, and Sparkles rolled her eyes back at him in response, but didn't say anything further. Mousy wasn't sure why she still felt anxious whenever he said something in that tone of voice, even when it wasn't directed at her. She should be used to it by now. She should be used to a lot of things. "Don't want it sneaking up behind us when we're walking around. C'mon."
Griffin walked ahead of them, leading the way without looking behind him to see if they were following. As they threaded their way past abandoned cars, dead bodies, and overturned dumpsters and trash cans, Sparkles kept her eyes focused ahead. Mousy, however, walked nearly sideways in an effort to kept an eye on the area behind them and still keep up with the others. She'd noticed, while doing this, that zombies had a tendency to suddenly pop up behind them, or from behind things, when they were unawares, and it paid to look out for that. Someone should, at least.
The coughing continued, wet hacking and choking, and then there was an odd creaking sound. Griffin crouched down to the ground, Sparkles following suit, as he entered the warehouse, gun drawn. The building was filled with pallet racks both empty and full, forming a maze with patchwork walls.
"Sounds sort of high, doesn't it..." Mousy said. "The coughing, I mean..."
"Quiet."
The creak faded, there was a cough, and then a mighty crash that made all three of them jump. It was immediately followed by a harsh, pained shriek with the same ragged quality of the Smoker's coughs before. Something had happened to the thing, and in spite of herself, in spite of the situation, Mousy felt a little bad for it. It sounded like whatever it was had really hurt.
Griffin was waving a hand at her, and she crouched down to follow him. They inched along a large pallet rack, one filled with abandoned boxes and equipment that would give them cover in case the Smoker was still lurking somewhere on the other side. He peeked around the edge of it, to the center of the warehouse, then went back under cover. He blinked, and looked again.
Sparkles apparently was too consumed by curiousity to stop herself, and Griffin hadn't said anything, so she looked as well. She took a sharp breath at whatever it was, and the two of them stayed there like that, staring. Curious herself, and since they weren't saying anything either way, Mousy took a deep breath and leaned out from behind them to take a peek.
The crashing sound had been a worn and unstable metal rack with wheels that had been holding a set of heavy boxes on its top shelf, most of which had now split and spilled their contents all over the floor. Two of the racks had fallen, one on top of the other. Beneath the bottom rack, emitting large plumes of distressed smoke, was a Smoker. It was struggling to free itself from the rack which had pinned it to the ground by its legs, pushing furiously at it and heaving gasping breaths around its oversized tongue.
It cried out, harsh and pained, much like it did when it spotted a survivor, but it wasn't fury that made it scream now. It was obviously hurt. Perhaps it had knocked the shelves over on itself while trying to climb up or down them. Smokers did like high places.
Mousy adjusted her glasses, trying to get a better look. Now that she was examining the Smoker more closely, she noticed something... unusual about them. Namely, that they were wearing a plaid red overshirt, one that seemed familiar to her... and the Smoker, who had to be female by the pitch in their voice and their longish brown hair, would turn her face towards them at times in an effort to free herself, unaware that she was being watched. As with most Smokers, one side of her face was covered with a grotesque blanket of boils and tumors, covering her eye and pulsating now with her frantic breathing. But the other side of her face wasn't quite so changed, and her features...
Mousy raised a hand to her mouth, unable to hold back a gasp. She knew that face. There weren't many out there that looked like that, and the pieces all fit.
"It's... do you think it's her?"
"Son of a bitch," Griffin murmured. He was staring at her just as intently, and Mousy knew she was right. "I thought she'd be dead by now."
"She's one of them, huh..." Sparkles said, somewhat to herself, and her tone hardened. "Hmm. Guess that makes sense. She always did smoke too much."
Mousy stared at her, at poor Smoker stuck beneath the shelves, mutated and twisted into this hideous shape, and her heart panged. She'd thought she'd probably died during the initial outbreak like almost everyone else... it hadn't occurred to her that something like this could have happened to her. She wasn't sure what was worse. "This isn't fair..." She hadn't intended to say that out loud, but couldn't help herself. Poor Smoker had been alone for so long; she probably had no one to turn to for help when the infection broke out, had no one to protect her, and now she'd become one of them. Not only had she not even died, she'd become a hideous, mindless monster. Smoker, who'd never known how to reach out to people before, who'd longed for friendship and for someone to just try and understand her, now could only attack others in blind fury. A confused and frightened creature with no one left to remember her.
No one left but Mousy and her two compatriots to even know her, or know who she was. Who she used to be. The tragedy of it was heartbreaking and she felt tears coming on. She'd lost so many people already, but to see her like this... it was so awful.
Smoker gasped for breath, tried to loop her tongue around something that could pull her free without success (was that how she'd knocked down the second rack?), made frantic, strained noises as she tried to push the shelves off her. It was pitiful. All Mousy wanted to do was run over there and pick the shelves up and save her, even if she was a zombie. She was still Smoker.
"Think she can think anymore?" Griffin said softly, wary of alerting her to their presence. She still hadn't seen them, caught up as she was in her own struggle to free herself. Sometimes, the special infected were supernaturally aware of their presence... and other times, they could sneak up right behind them and they wouldn't notice until it was too late. Apparently their focus was limited to one thing at a time.
"Listen to her," Sparkles said, her voice level and cool. "She's just a zombie now like everyone else. Should put her out of her misery-"
Smoker took a deep breath, and she let out a long, frustrated yell, almost like a call, and gulped down air when it faded away. It sounded so hard for her to breathe, it was almost painful to listen to. Griffin raised his pistol and took aim at her, and Mousy couldn't help but move forward to touch his shoulder.
"Can't we..." She was going to suggest they just leave her, as the thought of shooting poor Smoker, who hadn't done anything to deserve this, who never wanted this to happen to her, who'd die alone and frightened and helpless to defend herself, was just too upsetting for Mousy. She just couldn't bear the thought of Smoker dying so miserable and alone like that, dying at their hands like a rabid dog. She was a person once. She still was, somewhere. She was sure of it.
Before she could try and put any of that into words, there was an answering scream from not as far away as they would have liked. Instantly alert, they crouched down lower to the ground, eyes towards the sky, as another scream cut through the air, this one sharper, fiercer. Smoker took a few deep breaths, and she coughed out some barking sounds in response, pain clear through her hoarse voice.
They waited, prepared for an attack, waiting for whatever it was to reveal itself, and there. A dark shape landed on the other side of the warehouse, near the open door where the Smoker had no doubt entered. It clamored inside on all fours, its silhouette oddly shaped. In the light, she could see two ears on top of a distinctive duct-taped hoodie.
"No way..." Mousy said, again to herself, and she heard Griffin take another breath beside her, and felt Sparkles tense. So she had survived as well, her friend, the girl who'd always been hanging around their building when Smoker had gone out on her frequent smoke breaks. The girl in the pictures on her desk. She felt a surge of relief and some other emotion at the realization, one that was harder to identify. It certainly wasn't jealousy at the fact that they had become zombies together, while she'd proved to be immune... that'd be ridiculous.
Perhaps Smoker wasn't as alone as she'd first thought... maybe she had had someone with her when the infection broke out, maybe she hadn't faced the darkness alone. If nothing else, at least she didn't travel it alone now, if the two of them still knew each other. Had Smoker been calling for her for help? Who knew how aware the zombies were, really?
But it was clear that Smoker's friend was one of them, a Hunter now that had been left with only the desire to kill.
Or, so they'd always assumed. Strangely, the Hunter didn't seem to notice them at all. Instead she prowled around Smoker, sniffing her and the rack that pinned her to the ground and growling. It looked like she was trying to assess the situation, and Smoker let out a strained grunt as she tried to push the rack off her again with no success. Hunter seemed to watch her do it, as well as a Hunter could watch anything... Mousy had looked at one after they'd killed it once, and the creature's eyes were gone. Now that she saw this Hunter, one she knew, the memory of killing the previous one brought on a pang of guilt stronger than before.
Hunter's head moved back and forth between Smoker and the metal rack, like she could somehow still see, and she slowly put two and two together and tried to lift it herself. It shifted, but not enough, and when it fell back, Smoker let out another agonized cry. Mousy couldn't help but tighten her fingers around her sleeve when she heard it. It was like listening to someone kick a dog, and inspired the same deep urge to rescue and protect. Smoker sounded like she was in so much pain, and she was so helpless... she just wanted to help her. Maybe if they helped her, she'd remember them... surely she'd remember her, right? They'd been friends, before...
Hunter prowled back and forth, pushing and pulling at the shelves without success, and Smoker kept coughing and making sounds at her and she made sounds back, like they were talking, as absurd as that thought was. Eventually, stymied, Hunter sat down on her haunches, leaned her head back, and howled. It was piercing and loud, and unlike any of the other calls she'd heard from her particular breed of infected.
Neither of the zombies had spotted them yet, still focused in their struggle to free Smoker. Engrossed by the strange display, the small group of survivors had yet to make their own move, or make their presence known. They waited, tense, unsure of what the howl would bring, and sure enough, Mousy could hear another infected coming. Laughter this time, high-pitched giggling, accompanied by a low snorting sound from farther away.
As Mousy thought, a Jockey appeared, a female one by the long blonde braid and pink clothes. She cackled madly at the sight of Smoker trapped, seemingly delighted and Mousy felt offended on Smoker's behalf, despite the fact that as far as she was aware, a Jockey's laughter was uncontrollable. Even so, she couldn't help but frown at her. It's not funny.
The Jockey bounded over to Smoker, then leapt back and forth over her, causing her smoke to wave upwards in swirling patterns. Hunter barked at her, and she stopped and stood in one place, trembling uncontrollably and giggling. She looked at the rack, at Smoker, took her tongue in one long fingered hand and tugged at it, as if that could pull her free. Smoker snarled at her, lashing out at her with one arm to drive her away, and the Jockey danced clear, bouncing up and down and waving her arms, squealing with laughter, before she went to the rack and tried to move it herself without success. Jockeys weren't known for their physical prowess, yet she seemed intent on trying for a few moments. It was like she was trying to help...
"Do you think they know each other?"
"What?"
"Think they know each other?" Mousy whispered. "Hunter and Smoker are friends... think they're friends with the Jockey too?"
"Zombies don't have friends," Sparkles said, and her tone added you idiot to it. Mousy decided not to say anything further.
Unable to move the rack, Hunter and the Jockey leaped and pounced at each other, chattering, minds too far gone to figure out any kind of solution. Smoker continued to fight against what pinned her down, her normal smoke coming off of her in increasingly large pulses of effort and distress. Finally, the snorting figure they'd heard before entered the room. A Charger, which would fit with the labored, heavy breathing, although this one was shorter and broader than the ones Mousy had previously seen. From her body shape and the bra strap cutting into the shoulder of her large arm, she seemed female as well.
She surveyed the situation, ignoring the Jockey bounding around her, on top of her shoulders, off her head, laughing and pointing. Smoker struggled again, wheezing, pained and she looked at the Charger. She looked at her, their eyes meeting by more than chance, and in that moment, it was easy to forget how mindless the infected really were. It was like they were communicating, silently, knowingly, although Mousy kept that to herself. The others probably wouldn't be open to the suggestion, but she was sure that was what was happening...
Smoker made a ragged whine in her distended throat, around her long tongue, a pathetic little sound that nearly made Mousy whine herself in sympathy, and the Charger took some steps towards her. She studied the fallen rack for what felt like ages, Hunter breathing hard and ready by her side, and Mousy just wanted to shout at them, to tell them what to do. Pick it up, she silently willed the Charger, pick it up and get her out. You can do it, you're strong enough. It's not that complicated.
The Charger looked at the rack, at Smoker beneath it, at the Hunter who stood crouched by her side, panting and curling and uncurling her hands. Finally, she reached down with her huge arm, wrapping thick fingers around the edge of the rack nearest to her. She grunted at Hunter, who quickly hopped over Smoker to take hold of the rack on the other side of her. The Jockey, who'd been swatting at the air behind them, playing games with the smoke swirls, noticed what they were doing and quickly joined Hunter's side.
They couldn't count down, they couldn't coordinate their efforts that carefully, but the Charger's strength seemed to be enough. She could lift the rack, a little, and the Jockey, easily distracted and not much help, soon let go and started galloping around them again, breathless and hysterical. Quickly, as if she'd meant to do it all along, she leaped forward and grabbed Smoker's shoulders, and she yanked her out from under the shelves with an excited shriek of laughter.
She was free, and Jockey cackled at the ceiling, jumping up and down. Charger let the rack drop to the floor with a loud metal crash. In but a moment, Hunter jumped on top of Smoker, pinning her shoulders down, pressing her nose to her face and sniffing loudly. It almost looked like something else, which sent an unpleasant jolt of adrenaline through Mousy for some reason, and she noticed Griffin stiffen and mumble something like "what the hell" under his breath. She was, of course, only checking her for injuries (of course), and she turned and sniffed her way down Smoker's body to her legs. Once she reached them she began to shift and fidget, obviously upset. It was hard to tell from this distance, but Mousy thought she could make out some red stains on Smoker's jeans, although those could have been from previous attacks.
Smoker sat up, smoke rising up from her in uneven waves, and she growled. Tense, she tried to move, and growled again. Hunter weaved back and forth over her, eyeless face fixed on hers, and the Charger stood nearby and watched them with her one open eye. The Jockey bounded up and down, nudging Smoker every now and then like she wanted her to get up, but she wasn't moving.
"She's hurt..." Mousy whispered to herself. The rack, the pallet rack must have hurt her legs when they'd fallen on her. What if she couldn't walk? Her friends, and they must have been her friends, no matter what Sparkles had said, had rescued her. They showed enough capacity to understand the situation, who she was, and that they needed to do something about it. They had the ability to care, in some way. But now Smoker was apparently injured, unable to follow them out... what were they going to do?
True animals would have probably left her... she'd slow them down, she was no good to them like this. If she survived fine, if not, there'd be others. If they were truly monsters, unfeeling, they would leave her to die, having learned now that she could not walk on her own.
Hunter paced at her feet, whining in her throat like a dog. The Charger looked over the situation again, breathing thick and hard through a crushed nose, and she leaned down, one leg somewhat bending. Hunter looked at the Charger, grabbed Smoker's legs, tried to lift them to make her walk, but Smoker only snarled and spat in rage and pain, unable to move them herself.
The Charger's arm moved over her and for a second Mousy thought she was going to crush Smoker's head and end it that way, and perhaps that would have been the kindest thing but the thought made her want to cry and be sick all at once. Instead the Charger slid her arm around Smoker, her hand massive, and she swept her up and crushed her tightly to her chest. Smoker made a startled sound, a wet bark of a cough, and let out a burst of thick smoke in response. The Jockey squealed in delight, slapping her hands against the cement of the floor, and the Hunter followed along right beside the Charger, like a dog, still whining.
It only took them a few seconds. The Charger picked her up and carried her out of the warehouse, and then all four were gone, a faint trail of smoke the only indication that they were there.
"What the hell did I just see?" Sparkles said, although without as much strength as she would have normally.
"Unless you want to fight four specials at once, I think we should go the other way," Griffin mumbled as he turned around and headed for the way they'd come in. He didn't look to see if the others were following.
Sparkles shook her head, and sighed as she went after him, mumbling under her breath.
Mousy stayed for a few seconds, staring at the place where they'd been, her hand pressed over her heart. For a moment, she felt the urge to go after them, to follow them and let them know that she understood them, that she remembered them, that she wouldn't hurt them. But her team was moving on, and Smoker and the others were gone, and she knew she couldn't go with them. Fate had dictated that she and Smoker would take different paths, her a survivor and Smoker an infected, and they were paths that should probably, for the benefit of all of them, not cross again.
Still, already she missed her.
Smoker may have become a zombie, may have been doomed to a terrible life of death and mindless killing... but at least she wasn't alone. Someone still cared about her, and someone would take care of her, even when Mousy couldn't.
That was a small comfort.
Title: Different Paths
Rating: PG I guess for minor language and mentions of violence
Pairing: None!
Warnings: None I can think of
Summary: A group of survivors come across a very familiar zombie in trouble. So that's what happened to her after the infection broke out! Now, what should they do about it?
Notes: Set when the ladies are all infected zombies! This fic reads so weirdly because no one has any proper names, haha. Well except Griffin by luck of the draw (someday I should tell you guys why he's called that), otherwise he probably would've ended up as Douchey or something. And find/replace won't even work perfectly in this for Smoker or Hunter. OH WELL.
"Wait a second. Hear that?"
Griffin threw out his hand, whacking Sparkles audibly in the chest and stopping her in her tracks. She let out an annoyed huff of air, narrowing her eyes at him, but didn't comment. Mousy, however, had been listening, and she stopped when he spoke. It was easier just to listen to him instead of argue, even if sometimes she didn't think he knew as much about this as he said.
She looked upwards towards the night sky, like that would improve her hearing somehow, and there. Harsh, ragged coughing and wheezing. As unbelievable as it seemed to her, she'd been doing this long enough to recognize what that meant. It was one of the special zombies, the unusual ones that only appeared every now and then and seemed to have a loose grasp on sentience still. The real dangerous ones. Hacking like this meant a Smoker was in the area, lurking somewhere in the tangled mess of broken buildings and empty streets, although the lack of furious screams meant it hadn't spotted them yet.
"Smoker somewhere nearby..." Sparkles readied her shotgun, frowning. She did not like the special infected, like she took their existence almost personally. Mousy wasn't sure why, but she didn't want to ask too many questions... it didn't take much to set Sparkles off and Mousy hated conflict, and it'd make sense to hate a zombie, wouldn't it? Especially if they tried to kill you all the time. And they did often go for Sparkles.
As had been the case for most of her life, people tended to overlook Mousy.
Griffin pointed across the street at an abandoned warehouse with his pistol, taking out a few lingering commons outside as he did so. He did it automatically, without any change in his expression except a minute tightening around his eyes as he focused on them in the dark. Sometimes it made Mousy uncomfortable how little this seemed to bother him, or maybe it was just how much all this still bothered her. How guns never felt right in her hands. She hadn't told them that though.
She didn't tell them much of anything, really. She learned quickly enough that they didn't listen.
"It's coming from in there. Yeah... can definitely see smoke in there."
Mousy peered into the darkness as best she could, and she might have made out some faint green wisps of smoke, but it was hard to tell. Her vision wasn't the best.
"We should take care of it before it comes after us. You know how they are," Sparkles said. Griffin rolled his eyes at her suggestion.
"Obviously." With an annoyed click of his tongue, and Sparkles rolled her eyes back at him in response, but didn't say anything further. Mousy wasn't sure why she still felt anxious whenever he said something in that tone of voice, even when it wasn't directed at her. She should be used to it by now. She should be used to a lot of things. "Don't want it sneaking up behind us when we're walking around. C'mon."
Griffin walked ahead of them, leading the way without looking behind him to see if they were following. As they threaded their way past abandoned cars, dead bodies, and overturned dumpsters and trash cans, Sparkles kept her eyes focused ahead. Mousy, however, walked nearly sideways in an effort to kept an eye on the area behind them and still keep up with the others. She'd noticed, while doing this, that zombies had a tendency to suddenly pop up behind them, or from behind things, when they were unawares, and it paid to look out for that. Someone should, at least.
The coughing continued, wet hacking and choking, and then there was an odd creaking sound. Griffin crouched down to the ground, Sparkles following suit, as he entered the warehouse, gun drawn. The building was filled with pallet racks both empty and full, forming a maze with patchwork walls.
"Sounds sort of high, doesn't it..." Mousy said. "The coughing, I mean..."
"Quiet."
The creak faded, there was a cough, and then a mighty crash that made all three of them jump. It was immediately followed by a harsh, pained shriek with the same ragged quality of the Smoker's coughs before. Something had happened to the thing, and in spite of herself, in spite of the situation, Mousy felt a little bad for it. It sounded like whatever it was had really hurt.
Griffin was waving a hand at her, and she crouched down to follow him. They inched along a large pallet rack, one filled with abandoned boxes and equipment that would give them cover in case the Smoker was still lurking somewhere on the other side. He peeked around the edge of it, to the center of the warehouse, then went back under cover. He blinked, and looked again.
Sparkles apparently was too consumed by curiousity to stop herself, and Griffin hadn't said anything, so she looked as well. She took a sharp breath at whatever it was, and the two of them stayed there like that, staring. Curious herself, and since they weren't saying anything either way, Mousy took a deep breath and leaned out from behind them to take a peek.
The crashing sound had been a worn and unstable metal rack with wheels that had been holding a set of heavy boxes on its top shelf, most of which had now split and spilled their contents all over the floor. Two of the racks had fallen, one on top of the other. Beneath the bottom rack, emitting large plumes of distressed smoke, was a Smoker. It was struggling to free itself from the rack which had pinned it to the ground by its legs, pushing furiously at it and heaving gasping breaths around its oversized tongue.
It cried out, harsh and pained, much like it did when it spotted a survivor, but it wasn't fury that made it scream now. It was obviously hurt. Perhaps it had knocked the shelves over on itself while trying to climb up or down them. Smokers did like high places.
Mousy adjusted her glasses, trying to get a better look. Now that she was examining the Smoker more closely, she noticed something... unusual about them. Namely, that they were wearing a plaid red overshirt, one that seemed familiar to her... and the Smoker, who had to be female by the pitch in their voice and their longish brown hair, would turn her face towards them at times in an effort to free herself, unaware that she was being watched. As with most Smokers, one side of her face was covered with a grotesque blanket of boils and tumors, covering her eye and pulsating now with her frantic breathing. But the other side of her face wasn't quite so changed, and her features...
Mousy raised a hand to her mouth, unable to hold back a gasp. She knew that face. There weren't many out there that looked like that, and the pieces all fit.
"It's... do you think it's her?"
"Son of a bitch," Griffin murmured. He was staring at her just as intently, and Mousy knew she was right. "I thought she'd be dead by now."
"She's one of them, huh..." Sparkles said, somewhat to herself, and her tone hardened. "Hmm. Guess that makes sense. She always did smoke too much."
Mousy stared at her, at poor Smoker stuck beneath the shelves, mutated and twisted into this hideous shape, and her heart panged. She'd thought she'd probably died during the initial outbreak like almost everyone else... it hadn't occurred to her that something like this could have happened to her. She wasn't sure what was worse. "This isn't fair..." She hadn't intended to say that out loud, but couldn't help herself. Poor Smoker had been alone for so long; she probably had no one to turn to for help when the infection broke out, had no one to protect her, and now she'd become one of them. Not only had she not even died, she'd become a hideous, mindless monster. Smoker, who'd never known how to reach out to people before, who'd longed for friendship and for someone to just try and understand her, now could only attack others in blind fury. A confused and frightened creature with no one left to remember her.
No one left but Mousy and her two compatriots to even know her, or know who she was. Who she used to be. The tragedy of it was heartbreaking and she felt tears coming on. She'd lost so many people already, but to see her like this... it was so awful.
Smoker gasped for breath, tried to loop her tongue around something that could pull her free without success (was that how she'd knocked down the second rack?), made frantic, strained noises as she tried to push the shelves off her. It was pitiful. All Mousy wanted to do was run over there and pick the shelves up and save her, even if she was a zombie. She was still Smoker.
"Think she can think anymore?" Griffin said softly, wary of alerting her to their presence. She still hadn't seen them, caught up as she was in her own struggle to free herself. Sometimes, the special infected were supernaturally aware of their presence... and other times, they could sneak up right behind them and they wouldn't notice until it was too late. Apparently their focus was limited to one thing at a time.
"Listen to her," Sparkles said, her voice level and cool. "She's just a zombie now like everyone else. Should put her out of her misery-"
Smoker took a deep breath, and she let out a long, frustrated yell, almost like a call, and gulped down air when it faded away. It sounded so hard for her to breathe, it was almost painful to listen to. Griffin raised his pistol and took aim at her, and Mousy couldn't help but move forward to touch his shoulder.
"Can't we..." She was going to suggest they just leave her, as the thought of shooting poor Smoker, who hadn't done anything to deserve this, who never wanted this to happen to her, who'd die alone and frightened and helpless to defend herself, was just too upsetting for Mousy. She just couldn't bear the thought of Smoker dying so miserable and alone like that, dying at their hands like a rabid dog. She was a person once. She still was, somewhere. She was sure of it.
Before she could try and put any of that into words, there was an answering scream from not as far away as they would have liked. Instantly alert, they crouched down lower to the ground, eyes towards the sky, as another scream cut through the air, this one sharper, fiercer. Smoker took a few deep breaths, and she coughed out some barking sounds in response, pain clear through her hoarse voice.
They waited, prepared for an attack, waiting for whatever it was to reveal itself, and there. A dark shape landed on the other side of the warehouse, near the open door where the Smoker had no doubt entered. It clamored inside on all fours, its silhouette oddly shaped. In the light, she could see two ears on top of a distinctive duct-taped hoodie.
"No way..." Mousy said, again to herself, and she heard Griffin take another breath beside her, and felt Sparkles tense. So she had survived as well, her friend, the girl who'd always been hanging around their building when Smoker had gone out on her frequent smoke breaks. The girl in the pictures on her desk. She felt a surge of relief and some other emotion at the realization, one that was harder to identify. It certainly wasn't jealousy at the fact that they had become zombies together, while she'd proved to be immune... that'd be ridiculous.
Perhaps Smoker wasn't as alone as she'd first thought... maybe she had had someone with her when the infection broke out, maybe she hadn't faced the darkness alone. If nothing else, at least she didn't travel it alone now, if the two of them still knew each other. Had Smoker been calling for her for help? Who knew how aware the zombies were, really?
But it was clear that Smoker's friend was one of them, a Hunter now that had been left with only the desire to kill.
Or, so they'd always assumed. Strangely, the Hunter didn't seem to notice them at all. Instead she prowled around Smoker, sniffing her and the rack that pinned her to the ground and growling. It looked like she was trying to assess the situation, and Smoker let out a strained grunt as she tried to push the rack off her again with no success. Hunter seemed to watch her do it, as well as a Hunter could watch anything... Mousy had looked at one after they'd killed it once, and the creature's eyes were gone. Now that she saw this Hunter, one she knew, the memory of killing the previous one brought on a pang of guilt stronger than before.
Hunter's head moved back and forth between Smoker and the metal rack, like she could somehow still see, and she slowly put two and two together and tried to lift it herself. It shifted, but not enough, and when it fell back, Smoker let out another agonized cry. Mousy couldn't help but tighten her fingers around her sleeve when she heard it. It was like listening to someone kick a dog, and inspired the same deep urge to rescue and protect. Smoker sounded like she was in so much pain, and she was so helpless... she just wanted to help her. Maybe if they helped her, she'd remember them... surely she'd remember her, right? They'd been friends, before...
Hunter prowled back and forth, pushing and pulling at the shelves without success, and Smoker kept coughing and making sounds at her and she made sounds back, like they were talking, as absurd as that thought was. Eventually, stymied, Hunter sat down on her haunches, leaned her head back, and howled. It was piercing and loud, and unlike any of the other calls she'd heard from her particular breed of infected.
Neither of the zombies had spotted them yet, still focused in their struggle to free Smoker. Engrossed by the strange display, the small group of survivors had yet to make their own move, or make their presence known. They waited, tense, unsure of what the howl would bring, and sure enough, Mousy could hear another infected coming. Laughter this time, high-pitched giggling, accompanied by a low snorting sound from farther away.
As Mousy thought, a Jockey appeared, a female one by the long blonde braid and pink clothes. She cackled madly at the sight of Smoker trapped, seemingly delighted and Mousy felt offended on Smoker's behalf, despite the fact that as far as she was aware, a Jockey's laughter was uncontrollable. Even so, she couldn't help but frown at her. It's not funny.
The Jockey bounded over to Smoker, then leapt back and forth over her, causing her smoke to wave upwards in swirling patterns. Hunter barked at her, and she stopped and stood in one place, trembling uncontrollably and giggling. She looked at the rack, at Smoker, took her tongue in one long fingered hand and tugged at it, as if that could pull her free. Smoker snarled at her, lashing out at her with one arm to drive her away, and the Jockey danced clear, bouncing up and down and waving her arms, squealing with laughter, before she went to the rack and tried to move it herself without success. Jockeys weren't known for their physical prowess, yet she seemed intent on trying for a few moments. It was like she was trying to help...
"Do you think they know each other?"
"What?"
"Think they know each other?" Mousy whispered. "Hunter and Smoker are friends... think they're friends with the Jockey too?"
"Zombies don't have friends," Sparkles said, and her tone added you idiot to it. Mousy decided not to say anything further.
Unable to move the rack, Hunter and the Jockey leaped and pounced at each other, chattering, minds too far gone to figure out any kind of solution. Smoker continued to fight against what pinned her down, her normal smoke coming off of her in increasingly large pulses of effort and distress. Finally, the snorting figure they'd heard before entered the room. A Charger, which would fit with the labored, heavy breathing, although this one was shorter and broader than the ones Mousy had previously seen. From her body shape and the bra strap cutting into the shoulder of her large arm, she seemed female as well.
She surveyed the situation, ignoring the Jockey bounding around her, on top of her shoulders, off her head, laughing and pointing. Smoker struggled again, wheezing, pained and she looked at the Charger. She looked at her, their eyes meeting by more than chance, and in that moment, it was easy to forget how mindless the infected really were. It was like they were communicating, silently, knowingly, although Mousy kept that to herself. The others probably wouldn't be open to the suggestion, but she was sure that was what was happening...
Smoker made a ragged whine in her distended throat, around her long tongue, a pathetic little sound that nearly made Mousy whine herself in sympathy, and the Charger took some steps towards her. She studied the fallen rack for what felt like ages, Hunter breathing hard and ready by her side, and Mousy just wanted to shout at them, to tell them what to do. Pick it up, she silently willed the Charger, pick it up and get her out. You can do it, you're strong enough. It's not that complicated.
The Charger looked at the rack, at Smoker beneath it, at the Hunter who stood crouched by her side, panting and curling and uncurling her hands. Finally, she reached down with her huge arm, wrapping thick fingers around the edge of the rack nearest to her. She grunted at Hunter, who quickly hopped over Smoker to take hold of the rack on the other side of her. The Jockey, who'd been swatting at the air behind them, playing games with the smoke swirls, noticed what they were doing and quickly joined Hunter's side.
They couldn't count down, they couldn't coordinate their efforts that carefully, but the Charger's strength seemed to be enough. She could lift the rack, a little, and the Jockey, easily distracted and not much help, soon let go and started galloping around them again, breathless and hysterical. Quickly, as if she'd meant to do it all along, she leaped forward and grabbed Smoker's shoulders, and she yanked her out from under the shelves with an excited shriek of laughter.
She was free, and Jockey cackled at the ceiling, jumping up and down. Charger let the rack drop to the floor with a loud metal crash. In but a moment, Hunter jumped on top of Smoker, pinning her shoulders down, pressing her nose to her face and sniffing loudly. It almost looked like something else, which sent an unpleasant jolt of adrenaline through Mousy for some reason, and she noticed Griffin stiffen and mumble something like "what the hell" under his breath. She was, of course, only checking her for injuries (of course), and she turned and sniffed her way down Smoker's body to her legs. Once she reached them she began to shift and fidget, obviously upset. It was hard to tell from this distance, but Mousy thought she could make out some red stains on Smoker's jeans, although those could have been from previous attacks.
Smoker sat up, smoke rising up from her in uneven waves, and she growled. Tense, she tried to move, and growled again. Hunter weaved back and forth over her, eyeless face fixed on hers, and the Charger stood nearby and watched them with her one open eye. The Jockey bounded up and down, nudging Smoker every now and then like she wanted her to get up, but she wasn't moving.
"She's hurt..." Mousy whispered to herself. The rack, the pallet rack must have hurt her legs when they'd fallen on her. What if she couldn't walk? Her friends, and they must have been her friends, no matter what Sparkles had said, had rescued her. They showed enough capacity to understand the situation, who she was, and that they needed to do something about it. They had the ability to care, in some way. But now Smoker was apparently injured, unable to follow them out... what were they going to do?
True animals would have probably left her... she'd slow them down, she was no good to them like this. If she survived fine, if not, there'd be others. If they were truly monsters, unfeeling, they would leave her to die, having learned now that she could not walk on her own.
Hunter paced at her feet, whining in her throat like a dog. The Charger looked over the situation again, breathing thick and hard through a crushed nose, and she leaned down, one leg somewhat bending. Hunter looked at the Charger, grabbed Smoker's legs, tried to lift them to make her walk, but Smoker only snarled and spat in rage and pain, unable to move them herself.
The Charger's arm moved over her and for a second Mousy thought she was going to crush Smoker's head and end it that way, and perhaps that would have been the kindest thing but the thought made her want to cry and be sick all at once. Instead the Charger slid her arm around Smoker, her hand massive, and she swept her up and crushed her tightly to her chest. Smoker made a startled sound, a wet bark of a cough, and let out a burst of thick smoke in response. The Jockey squealed in delight, slapping her hands against the cement of the floor, and the Hunter followed along right beside the Charger, like a dog, still whining.
It only took them a few seconds. The Charger picked her up and carried her out of the warehouse, and then all four were gone, a faint trail of smoke the only indication that they were there.
"What the hell did I just see?" Sparkles said, although without as much strength as she would have normally.
"Unless you want to fight four specials at once, I think we should go the other way," Griffin mumbled as he turned around and headed for the way they'd come in. He didn't look to see if the others were following.
Sparkles shook her head, and sighed as she went after him, mumbling under her breath.
Mousy stayed for a few seconds, staring at the place where they'd been, her hand pressed over her heart. For a moment, she felt the urge to go after them, to follow them and let them know that she understood them, that she remembered them, that she wouldn't hurt them. But her team was moving on, and Smoker and the others were gone, and she knew she couldn't go with them. Fate had dictated that she and Smoker would take different paths, her a survivor and Smoker an infected, and they were paths that should probably, for the benefit of all of them, not cross again.
Still, already she missed her.
Smoker may have become a zombie, may have been doomed to a terrible life of death and mindless killing... but at least she wasn't alone. Someone still cared about her, and someone would take care of her, even when Mousy couldn't.
That was a small comfort.