𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. IV - 《how to be recklessly stupid》

oOo

Life was a sadistic asshole, or the Universe, or God, or the wizard behind the curtain for all she knew. Just whoever or whatever was pulling the strings responsible for the current events was a major sadistic fucker, getting off to their pain.

After two weeks of relative bliss, reality had bitch slapped Diana across the face; a rude wake-up call, the sting multiplied by the thousands, spreading through every inch of sensitive skin until her whole body felt both numb and sore, a cold sweat breaking from her pores.

Time slowed down and reeled forward simultaneously.

She swayed in place, disoriented and dizzied by the notions that spun around in her addled brain.

This was no one-time thing, no freak accident nor a fluke in the Universe.

An indescribable churn in her stomach made her hazily wonder if she was going to throw up as well. Her vision focused and she caught her reflection in the dusty window of the car she leaning against.

From the base of her neck to under her chin was a fine spray of blood, drying quickly in the hot air, painting her skin with red polka dots.

Red was a pretty color on her, Diana thought dreamily.

The gears in her mind jarred back to motion, clicking again, slowly, dent by dent, until she unfroze from her vegetable state of mind and truly noticed her surroundings. The smell of sweat, blood, burned rubber and smoke burned her nose.

As the buzzing in her ears retreated, Diana was met by a new voice, sawing through her in its grating slur, immediately convoking a feeling of annoyance from deep inside her that made her want to roll her eyes to the back of her skull.

Her eyes jumped to the figure of a man as he approached her, appearing from behind the car she was leaning on, and he bent down to retreat the bolt impaled on the head of the zombie at her feet, his blue eyes attentive on her. He wiped it on the leg of his pants and reloaded the crossbow in his hold.

Diana's heart sunk into her chest and her eyes widened at the vanquished threat. Her eyes traveled to every corpse, the sight of the gore tickling the back of her throat, before they landed on the one she had killed herself, sprawled with its hand reaching out to her, goop widening in a radius around its unrecognizable features.

The act of the kill itself rammed into the front of her mind like a freight train and suddenly red was no longer pretty on her.

Her bow clattered to the ground, nearly landing in the filth, as she desperately rubbed her hands on her speckled skin, scratching and peeling off chips of dried gunk, jaw clenched until the joints hurt. Bile rose to her throat, threatening to propel her lunch out of her mouth, but she swallowed hard, ignoring the bitter taste and focused instead on the newcomers.

The man in front of her observed her ministrations with an attentive nonchalance, mouth slightly curled in disgust, short hair slickened to his forehead with sweat on one side while wild on the other. Another man walked up from behind him to stand on his right, a rifle in his hands; his smile was patronizing and Diana dared to assume the voice from before had been his.

Diana met both their eyes before slowly bending at the knee to pick up her bow and backpack, shouldering both. 'Crossbow' followed her movements with his weapon, which made Sam protest from the back, spouting profanities in half-whispers.

Diana raised her hands in a show of good will.

She was not the enemy.

They were not the enemy.