Fission | Ground Zero

☣C H A P T E R | T W O☣

 Emily's fingertips splintered and stained red, gripping just enough onto a protruding beam above the balconies to stop herself from falling into another swing. Her chest lurches, intense feelings of hysteria filling her mind as she watches the monster vomit bile on screaming performers trying to vacate the premises.

Limbs shaking from the effort of holding her weight up by the tips of her fingers, her eyes dart around the ring and her breath becomes rapid, searching between the auditorium seating and walkways for any trace of her mother or father. To no avail in her actions, she lets out a small whimper from fear and her stomach sinks into her chest.

'You've got to move, you'll fall eventually', her inner voice rings from the back of her mind, and, despite her hesitation, her left leg begins to stretch, reaching down the banister by the tips of her toes. They swing, her hopes of the skin gripping the grain in the wood becoming nonexistent as her dirty feet slide with chalky ease. Pressure fills her chest with the beating of her heart and, with a final effort out of frustration, she swings herself over the rail and barely lands on the rafter floor with a loud thump.

Her head whips to the scene of the horror, the feasting of flesh just loud enough to distract them from her not-so-swift landing. Knuckles white, she grips the banister, eyes widened to the shape of lemons and knees trembling beneath her.

Tendrils of oiled saliva oozed from the snarled "lips" of the creature and worked its way into the human orifices, sizzling the epidermis instantly and peeling skin and muscle away from the bone in an almost acidic manner that wafted steam from the bubbles of blood upon impact. The flesh of the abomination throbs like living webbing, creating a monster of human shape but bearing a face of only a sharp-toothed mouth that stretches ear to ear, forehead to chin, its fingers oozing strings of the tar-like substance. They were nightmares, and she suddenly felt it no wonder that the media had never released an image of them.

Emily's ears no longer processed the screaming, her senses filmed. In slow motion her head turns, her damp face catching strands of hair as her eyes settle once again on the carnage below. Instincts scream to jump over the railing, to run over the seats to aid them –fond memories of each of the cast members as companions to her life flood her judgment– but she is unable to bound past simply gripping the banister in agony.

Only partially pulling herself from her daze, her eyes dart, with seemingly little energy left, for any sign of safety– of her parents who were sure to be caught in the mob of chaos.

Another spawn of rotting flesh followed behind the first, putting a wall in front of any lucky survivors to pass by the first until the cast of 15 was dwindled to 0. And yet, despite her inward screaming to "Move, damnit, move!", Emily stood paralyzed. Her explosive heart rate only magnified the shaking in her knees and elbows, but it wasn't until the last body dropped to the floor that her nerves finally reacted.

With a start, her weight shifts backward onto the opposite foot, the wooden board squeaking on impact.

Covering her mouth to control her ragged breath, her eyes stay planted. The clicking roar ensues as each creature lifts its jagged teeth from the flesh of a kill. One bounds forward onto all fours and extends its arms and legs into jagged points as it seemingly sniffs the air, the other letting out a lower static noise as its viscous head scans the area.

The face peered at her and her heart almost stopped at that moment– but its gaze peered elsewhere within seconds, and after becoming bored of its surroundings it began to feed once again. Her brows furrow and she suddenly drops to a crouch, moving away from the floorboard as quietly as possible. When they didn't react, returning to eating the stomachs out of their victims and then moving on to the next, she began slowly inching forward, suddenly happy for the lack of shoes on her feet lightening her footsteps. It only takes a few paces for her to reach the ladder, and she pulls herself down onto the rungs as gently as she can, almost hardly putting any weight down and more sliding down the sides. Her eyes never leave the beasts in the middle of the ring.