InsaneJournal

Surviving the horror
More TWWD! Because I've finally wrapped up the third chapter, and it's Ivan's POV again and it's kind of funny and it's kind of wrapping-things-up and it's kind of, well, there.

.... Anyway.



Breaths - short and sharp and shallow - dried out his mouth, and Ivan leaned against the sturdy steel door and let his tense shoulders sink. The shotgun felt heavy in his hands, his shoelaces were lose and wrapped around his ankles, and he could still feel the humming aftershock of the shots in his hands. He shook himself and looked at the woman, who stood doubled over in front of him, one hand on her knee and the other pressed against her side. Her breath had a whistling tone to it, a faint whine that set his teeth on edge, and she looked about to collapse.

Dragged me down a whole city block - and the bag, too - and me struggling the whole way. As his heartbeat slowed and his breath came deeper and easier, Ivan picked through his recent memories and lingered on the yellowed fangs and the mad, twisted eyes of the beasts. Those mangled jaws had snapped at his fingers as he pulled the door shut behind him. Six of them, two of us, and I have to stop to reload. He listened to her whistling breath and studied the floor in front of his boots. Stupid girl.

"... You still want to go home?" he asked quietly.

"No." The word came out in a gasp, but forceful nonetheless. "Not unless I get a SWAT-team to escort me home, and they somehow turn my shabby apartment into Fort Knox."

Then, she quietly fell into a heap on the floor. Legs folding up, knees banging on concrete and twisting inwards, she ended up in an awkward sprawl with her back against the wall. Ivan watched as she raised her hands - the skin of her palms was reddened and torn in patches, the half-scabbed scrubs leaking blood again - and stared at them with eyes so wide that he could barely see her eyelids.

"What were those things?" She frowned, still staring at her hands. "No, don't answer that. They looked like my aunt's lapdog - if my aunt's lapdog was exposed to severe radiation, that's what it'd look like. Lord knows it's already mean enough."

Babbling again. Ivan rolled his eyes and left her to it, turning instead to catching his own breath. He didn't know precisely when he'd lost it - no, that's a lie; I do.; when those teeth scraped against my nails - and he forced himself to take deep, even breaths. Claws scrabbled against the door, sounding far away, the metal ringing with it. Not far enough. He dug his heels into the flaky concrete of the floor, shoulders pressing against the door, and felt the steel chill him through the thin shirt.

Monsters in the streets, monsters in the police station, dead men in the yard.... Ivan shook himself, and heard the bullets in his pockets rattle. Do I still want to go home?

"Hey..." The woman shifted on the floor, folding her hands in her lap. The wide-eyed look was gone, but a touch of it still lingered in her expression. "I told you I'd help you out of here, and that offer still stands, but... When you go, can I come along? Sticking around here don't seem like a good plan."

Ivan shrugged - on the one hand, having to look out for someone else would be troublesome, but on the other hand, she knew the town and he could use another pair of hands. Taking his wordless shrug as acceptance, she broke out into a brilliant smile and let out the breath she had been holding. ... Well, damn.

"Thanks! I promise I won't drag you down - much." She made no attempt to rise - from where he was standing, he could see there was still a faint tremble in her legs even though they were flat on the floor - but stuck out her hand, scrubbed and stained with her own blood. "Mama always told me t'be polite and all, and since it looks like we're stuck in this together, I might as well catch up on the introductions. My name's Sorelia Fishbourne."

He quirked an eyebrow at the name - that's a mouthful - but pried one hand loose from the shotgun to reach down and shake hers, gingerly. His fingers were stiff, hers trembling and flushed warm, slightly sticky to the touch.

"Ivan Nikolaiev," he said.

"Nikolaiev?" she repeated, stumbling through the syllables as the smile she wore turned wry. "You're real far from home, aren't you?"

"... Yes." A harmless truth.

"Well," she said, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear, "you chose one hell of a night to come visiting."

And with the mad scrabble of the beasts outside ringing hollow in his bones, Ivan couldn't find a reason to disagree.