Rampage (Lesbian Story)

Control

PART I

Images haunted her. The wild, lifeless black eyes that peered into her eyes after she had killed them. Black blood splattered everywhere, staining and tainting all of its surroundings. Taking the lives of innocent wolves, burning through their flesh and will. All too weak to fight off the thick, poisonous liquid that ate away at them. Becky's fear frozen face, tears pouring from her eyes without her knowledge. They all haunted her, often times tricking her into believing that she still had to fight. Eric wasn't dead, not in her dreams. Whenever he died, he would just come back more hideous and distorted than the last time she killed him, or so she thought. There was no escaping the hellish night terror that she experienced, she could only endure the cycle.

Her eyes flew open wildly as she took in her surroundings. She was still in the truck, Barron lying lifelessly beside her. Instincts taking over, she tugged him into her lap, reducing the pain his head endured after every jolt of the truck. Everything ached but she couldn't let him further his injuries, especially since he couldn't help himself. They were trapped in a mobile ice box, freezing her to a point where it burned. She couldn't tell if it was the silver that caused the immediate cold or if it was their location. Was she even close to home anymore?... Home.

All thoughts were immediately targeted at Havana. She missed her. Worried about her even though she was the one driving towards nowhere. Her link with Havana had been severed but she kept calling out to her. She had to hear her voice one last time.

The two guards were well aware of her consciousness but though nothing of it. What could she have done? She was already poisoned with the Queens blood and, if they knew anything, that alone would kill her in the next week. On top of that, she was sealed in a silver box, draining her of any remaining energy she possible could have had. She was no threat.

Her hands gently massaged Barron's body, absently tracing his hideous scars. He was already bleeding black. Wounds, refusing to heal with such a toxic substance within him. He was dying. She wanted to take his pain away but how could she? She knew nothing about the thick liquid that ruined her life, that was currently killing her. How could she save him? The vehicle hit another bump, causing her to hit her hard against the cool metal again, this time drawing blood. Her vision lost focus as she was, yet again, greeted with darkness.

Cold chains gripped her bruised wrist as she walked around her cellar, pacing furiously, looking for ways to escape. Barron was slowly dying and she needed to get him out. He was in the mess because of her and she wasn't going to let him die. Not now or ever. The chain only gave her so much space to move and she often found herself ruthlessly pulling against the silver that pained and weakened her all at once. The damn thing wouldn't break free! Barron's body slumped to the side, briefly catching Sky's attention. Her body flung toward his but, with her constrains, she couldn't touch or hold him . Anger again surfaced as she tugged at her constraints. She wanted out.

As if sensing her desire to be free, the chains quickly dragged her closer to the wall and farther away from her friend. Barron knew he was dying. It was only a matter of time before the poisoned blood running through his veins ceased his heart, taking away his last remanent of humanity. His eyes were already bright red, blinding him from reality. His viscera were already shutting down, to a point where he wasn't even breathing for himself. It was all forced on him and he wanted to die but they kept him alive. The boss kept him alive because he should have been dead but he was ruthlessly hanging on. To her, he was a possible success so that meant keeping him alive till his heart collapsed behind his shattered rib cage.

Resting his head against the uncomfortable stone wall, Barron realized that he was taking this well. He wasn't dying to kill nor did he feel anything. Maybe that's where the problem lied. He couldn't feel. Not his arms or his legs or his breathing or heart beat. Nothing. He was a living corpse, much more gruesome than what could be seen on any television show. At least the zombies couldn't tell they were alive, they were granted that much. He was still alive in his lifeless body, watching himself decompose and knowing that nothing could have stopped it. There was nothing that could reverse his slow and imminent death. And he was oddly okay with it.