𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝙾𝚏 𝚅𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 | 𝚃. 𝙾𝚝𝚝𝚘 𐂃

Chapter 14

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Those curses kept repeating inside Ben's head as he ran, and ran, and ran. He let his guard down. Let a moment of safety get the better of him the moment he saw his truck neatly parked where he'd left it. Ben almost tasted freedom. He didn't give thought to check his surrounding again. The young man that summoned a horde of corpses none the wiser his plan failed and that his trackers survived the dead by tooth and nail. But they fully counted on him returning to his last safety net. Ben should've seen it coming, but his exhaustion and hunger sucked up the last fumes of vigilance and caution. The group bet on that too, probably pulled through the night to make it all the way back and wait for his arrival.

Ben slithered between the trees. From his peripheral his vision was but a blur from his sprint. His legs ached, but he pushed through, recoiling when wood splintered near his head from the fast projectile. The sound left a high-pitched ring in his ear drum. Stunning him. Ben didn't know where he went and randomly chose a path that put as much distance between him and his assailants. There was no time to curse his luck. Just run and don't look back.

Never look back.

Panting with sweat like a second layer on his flushed skin, the droplets invade his eyes. The running wasn't a pretty sight, red cheeked with a lopping gait that showed the increasing weariness in his body of the last few days. Ben persevered, thinking of what his fate entailed if he'd got caught. He jumped over the low heaps of dirt, trampling the dry leaves as he raced like a rabbit. With each footfall a jarring pain shoots up his lower legs. Ben couldn't quite find his way around the woods, but the group were weighed down by their guns. The weapons useless unless they had a clear shot, which they didn't have chasing him.

Ben sprinted and with it his world also sped up. So the effort of him slowing down when he saw the body creeping up rounding behind a trunk was his downfall. Literally. His eyes widened in shock, and he was falling. His sense of time slowed until there was only his body dropping to the ground like a heavy sack. Everything else was a blur swirling out of his vision and he prepared for the barrage of pain. The impact of his body colliding quivered through his bones. His head bounced on the earth and Ben felt a wetness seep from his scraped open skin. He couldn't move at first, but the alarming growl of the body he hit numbed his pain and replaced it with rushing fear.

With dread, Ben jolted before rolling to his side, whereas the dead body lunged at him. Like a starving dog that finally found something to temporarily satisfy its craving did the biter dive teeth first into fleshy fingers. It happened so fast Ben was shocked by before his body napped into action. He kicked the dead back with all his strength, as his intact hand runs bloody when tightly gripping the lopsided and chewed off digits. Blue pools glistened at the corner of his eyes and Ben starts to cry like a child.

-

The very human wail was what drew Cristine near. Without giving it a thought, she bolted and unbuckled her machete from her waist. Her eyes zeroed in on the wrestling Ben and the dead. She sliced the long blade right through the neck and beheaded the infected. Its body fell on top of the unfortunate young man that was now pathetically dragging himself over the soil, feet desperatelt kicking at air. Cristine noted faint drops of red trailing near him. She put two and two together when looking at the reanimated head. Teeth still chattering up and down with white and pink meat of crushed fingers between the bloody incisors.

The ugly bawling drew her focus and Cristine sauntered up to Ben hoisting himself up in a last attempt to continue his run. Ben gasped and cried, the terror of his end by these people somehow overruling that he was bit and already a dead man walking. "Please don't kill me. I- I'm not like them!"

"Shut up," Cristine gripped the back of his jacket with two hands, twisted them and with all her strength pulled Ben from the bark and threw him onto the ground. For a split second, Cristine had a better view of the hand that missed three fingers. A sudden streak of annoyance bubbled under her skin at the thought of losing the man in such a cliche manner. A freaking waste!