The Dead May Rise ✓ (GxG)

Twelve

The chlorine gas continued to hover over Osowiec Fortress.

     The Germans had long since fled the scene, leaving behind their scarred, bloody victims.

      Bear and Roman pushed on through the graveyard like fort.

     "This is terrible," Roman—-who hadn't been at the battle like Bear was—-commented, letting his gaze drift amongst the corpses. He was careful not to suck in any of the gas—-not that the chlorine would effect him though.

    Bear sighed as she observed all of the corpses. Her eyes came to rest on Vladimir Kotlinsky—-the lieutenant. "Can you start trying to convert those who are still breathing over?" She asked Roman.

     Roman nodded. "Da." He ran off in the opposite direction, tearing across the fort.

    Bear rushed over in the lieutenant's direction before kneeling and trying to find a pulse. Nothing, she noted. "Dammit."

     The lieutenant's hand was cold.

     Too late, Bear thought to herself; What good am I if I can't keep people alive?

     Bear closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. I'm wasting time, she thought to herself.

    Bear jumped up from where she stood. She inhaled before rushing back and forth through the fort at superhuman speeds, performing the siren conversion ritual on those who were laying on the ashy, cold ground.

     Finally, Bear made her way over to a young man who's patch upon his jacket read 'E. Gryymyko'. 

    Bear could see how his eyes were somewhat open, but besides that, she wasn't sure if he was even still alive. She lurched forward dragging her fangs along Gryymyko's neck. She punctured a wound in her own wrist, letting her blood drip into the neck wound.

    Drip.

    One second.

    Drip.

   Two seconds.

   Drip.

   Three seconds.

    Drip.

    Four seconds.

    Drip.

   Five seconds.

   Drip.

   Six seconds.

   Drip.

  Seven seconds.

     Bear then lunged for the other side of his neck, biting down hard and taking in a deep drink. She counted to five seconds in her mind. She pulled back before ripping open her arm wound a little more. She hovered her wrist above the soldier's mouth and let the blood drip in.

     One.

    Drip.

    Two.

    Drip.

    Three.

   Drip.

   Four.

   Drip.

   Five.

  Drip.

Six.

Drip.

Seven.