The Unmentioned

Sam

Small grunts echoed the halls from a young man.

Screams of undead women and men preached against a scratched door.

He slumped against the banister he leaned on, blood painted like a brush from the fabric of his shirt.

He panted out, eyes clinched, hands held over his abdomen.

Why is this happening...?, he queried to him self.

He butted his head against the wall a small thud echoed and shook the banister.

Blood stained his once lime green shirt.

He was as good as dead.

His father had ran out hours ago in hopes of finding supplies, though his hope faded when he heard gun shots and yells of a man he knew.

His father had told him to stay near an exit, so that's what he did...till the infected got to the exit.

He had only a knife to defend himself with. He was chased through two floors of the building till he cut them off at a stair well.

While running from them he tripped over a fallen desk chair and through a plate glass door.

Its large chunks went in his shirt cutting his stomach with bits getting stuck in skin he could feel one particular shard deep. The lesser of it was his knees that were scraped and hands that had some embedded as well.

His hand pressed fairly to stop the blood flow. Adrenaline forced him to stand and numbed the pain.

Now they would chase him.

He got up and ran after that.

When he hit the stair well, he ran as his life depends on it.

Throwing down any things from desk tops to slow them down.

The snarls and groans grew louder.

His stomach hurt with each step in the sprint.

The door to the stair well was open.

He stumbled to the top of the stairs, aching knees and desperate hands gave graphed at the heavy looking door.

It didn't close as he pulled with what little strength he had.

The glass in his hands pressed farther in as he gripped the handle with all his might, drawing more blood and skin eaters by the scent.

Finally he heard a loud click and the door was shut.

Panic arose as they banged against the door, beating with dead hands to try and get some sort of meat.

He shook, raw with Adrenaline rushing through his veins.

He hurried on wounded knee and into an empty room with a broken vending machine that was robbed of its contents. He scrambled to close the door find a relief in hearing his own breathing.

He slumped against the door and took in the area: a sofa with the corpse of a woman and a broken television.

It was there he he hated the smiling the banister of a woman and man in work uniform, both smiling with both a note pad and file in hand.

He limped to it, loosing balance as his foot was took hold of by a hand.

It's rotting fingers held tightly to his ankle, surly bruising it. Snarls and half moans left the creature.

His eyes found the body of it, a dismembered upper torso of a man with a disfigured face. The whole lower lip and chin were hanging on what was left of its face, and it had no eyes.