Afterworld: Into the Arms of Darkness Ch.10
Title: Afterworld: Into the Arms of Darkness
By: Pink Rabbit Productions
Chapter: 10
Date: 12 September, 2010
Disclaimer: Hmmm, characters, not mine, situation, mine, though with the proviso that certain scenarios owe a major debt of gratitude to George Romero. Sex? Likely. Genders involved? Likely all female (at least anything on camera). Also there are likely to be very bad things in this story. I'm not one for prodigious amounts of gore, but this is horror and there is likely to be ickiness and things that might disturb some folks. Seriously. If it's gonna bother you, move along.
Summary: When the dead rise, civilization falls.
Author's Notes: Awhile back, just for fun, I did a faux movie poster that set Otalia in a horror setting and used some elements from an idea I've had running around for ages (what can I say---it was the Halloween season). See the poster here: http://altfic.com/artgallery/otalia/glafterworld01b.htm . Sooo, at some point, it seemed like fun to take a gander at writing them in that universe. I've quite deliberately tried to break away from my usual style and make it a bit faster moving, with frequent chapter breaks, deliberate cliffhangers, shorter scenes and more directed pov. We'll see if I can keep to one pov per chapter (well, they are short chapters...lol).
Previous Chapters: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 |
Afterworld:
Into the Arms of Darkness
Chapter 10
Natalia tensed, half expecting a lunge, but the other woman just stood there, silently facing her, everything on display. In that first, startled instant, her gaze dropped, taking in harshly colored bruises that did little to blunt the impact of elegant curves and raw sexuality. She'd seen it all while Olivia was still unconscious and she'd needed to check for bites, but the impact was completely different now.
Limp, her body colored in shades of abuse, she'd been asexual and non-threatening, a creature to be pitied, not feared. Now she was...
Unbidden, an old Pat Benatar tune popped into Natalia's head, the opening lyrics a wry commentary on the situation.
You really do know how to strut that stuff
You really do know how to act tough
Your body's just like a centerfold
A fantasy, anyone would want to hold
Stop using sex as a weapon
Stop using sex as a weapon
Shaking herself sharply, she pushed the thought aside, consciously raising her gaze until brown eyes clashed with green. Fighting the automatic embarrassment, she refused to shrink and look away the way she really wanted. This was no accident. It was just another form of combat. That it took a carnal form didn't alter the intent.
It was intended to intimidate, to overwhelm, to send her running for cover, and if she was honest, it was damned close to achieving that goal.
A hint of a triumphant smirk curved full lips as Olivia correctly read her response.
Bitch, the thought slipped through Natalia's head, anger stiffening her spine. "Am I supposed to be impressed?" she sneered at last in a bid to defuse the power of the other woman's nudity.
A rusty eyebrow rose into a high arch. "You're the one who wanted me naked," Olivia drawled and did a slow turn toward the bathroom door, not giving Natalia time to respond.
Despite her best efforts, Natalia's gaze followed the graceful track of the other woman's spine from the back of her neck down to the sleek flare of her hips. "I didn't...don't..." she ground out, stumbling over the denial, "...want you...naked." She took a quick breath. "I just don't trust you."
"Whatever you say," the other woman shot back without turning. Moving to the old-fashioned claw-foot tub, she turned the water on. Low pressure coupled with a low-flow shower head meant there was little more than a gentle spatter.
"There's no hot, but it's clean," Natalia told her, grateful for any excuse to change the subject. Given how warm the attic was without air conditioning, the cool water would probably feel good.
Her innocent comment drew a soft, decidedly not-innocent laugh. "That's ok. I can supply the heat..." Olivia looked over her shoulder, green eyes glittering, smile boldly inviting. "The dirty too...if that's your preference..."
In spite of herself, Natalia's heart knocked against her ribcage and she backed up a step. "It's definitely not my preference," she snarled, hand tightening on the shotgun as though she feared she might need it to ward off the other woman. "And I know what you're doing, so you can just stop right now. It won't work."
A slanted eyebrow ticked up a notch. "Now there's an interesting challenge."
Another step back. "Stop it," Natalia hissed. Hoping to stop the perverse game, she glared threateningly and waved the shotgun in silent reminder as to who held the real power.
Olivia only tipped her head ever so slightly to one side, raised eyebrow climbing to its pinnacle as she continued to stare at Natalia. "Stop what?" she inquired with mock courtesy. "I'm just playing by the rules you set...no privacy...and you get to see everything." She shrugged. "Not my fault if you don't like the view."
Natalia growled a soft curse under her breath, even as she surrendered. "Fine," she snapped, "close the damn curtains...but if you try anything..." She let the words trail off.
"Understood," Olivia clipped, suddenly all business.
It was like shutting off a tap, Natalia thought, as the other woman straightened, the simmer instantly cooling to a chill. Sinuous grace gave way to wincing stiffness, the bulldozing aura of sexuality fading to nothing in an instant. Suddenly she was just a sore, bruised, barely alive human being, the change so complete as to make Natalia wonder if she'd imagined the temptress of a moment before.
The shower curtain was yanked shut before she had a chance to pursue that thought.
* * * * * *
Tipping her head forward, Olivia stepped under the spray, letting what there was of it wash over her. Not terribly impressive, but it was clean and it was running, which was more than she'd had in way too long. The tub was an old-fashioned, claw-foot type, with a single pipe running up to the shower head and she found herself wishing it was a more modern cubicle type. She would have killed for a wall to lean against.
Meanwhile, the water swirling into the drain at her feet had a faint, pinkish tint. So much for washing off all the blood. There was still more. Maybe there always would be.
Not letting herself think about how much might be hers and how much someone else's, she reached for the soap. It was cheap stuff, but it foamed nicely, the feel of it soothing as it slid over her skin in pale, bubbly trails. It brought forth sensory memories of her old life, a time when being clean had been the norm and dirty had meant an active day's sweat on her skin, not weeks of close living in a small vehicle with few amenities and fewer comforts.
And had Emma been treated to a bit of cleanliness, she wondered, tears burning her eyes as she thought of her child. She'd been so damned brave and so good and this wasn't at all the future any child should have to live through, nor the future any parent should have to see their child trapped in.
"What are you doing in there?" her antagonist asked, her voice easily rising over the thin sounds of the shower. She sounded pissed.
Good.
"Why? You wanna help?" Olivia shot back, aiming straight for the other woman's Achilles' heel. Who'd've thought she'd find a prude in the middle of hell?
Dead silence in response.
Even better.
Pushing off the guilts and torments, Olivia forced herself to concentrate on the pragmatic. Get clean, get free, get to Emma. Anything else was irrelevant.
Refocused, she ran the soap over her body, wincing at the feel of pressure on damaged skin and muscle even as she checked the quality of the aches encountered. With careful hands, she tested each bump and bruise, relieved to feel familiar pains that didn't slide over into feared territories. Nothing appeared that shouldn't have been there. Her body felt like her own without any unexpected surprises.
Not that she would have allowed that to alter her determination, but in a world with so little that could be trusted, it helped to feel right in her own skin.
She stared at her bandaged hand.
At least for the moment.
A slow flex pulled at the flesh hidden from view and made the wet bandages roll and stretch unevenly. Needing to know how bad it was, she carefully peeled away the sodden gauze to peer at her palm. There were marks, a bright, ugly shade of red in a curved pattern on the outer edge of her hand. Mostly on the palm, but there was definite bruising on the back of her hand as well. Inset in the bruises were darker marks where increased pressure had been applied and a few points of punctured and torn flesh. They were neatly spaced and followed the shape of the arc. Teeth were a definite possibility, but the wounds were too indistinct to be certain. It could have just as easily come from the stomping of the waffle-patterned heel or toe of a work boot.
More soap, this time rubbed in fiercely scrubbing strokes as though she could wash away any possibility of stalking death.
It didn't work like that, she reminded herself as she fought the terror. If she'd been bitten, all the soap in the world wouldn't fix it and if she hadn't, then panicking would only waste time. She needed to finish and get to Emma. Everything else could wait.
Pushing the gut-wrenching terror down through sheer force of will, she slowly straightened, then retrieved the soap. The bar wasn't ideal, but worked into a good lather on her hands, it cut through the dirt, blood, and accumulated grease, then washed away clean, leaving her feeling more human than she had in ages.
She could do this.
Now she just had to keep herself under control and be ready to do whatever was necessary when she faced her jailer.
* * * * *
TBC