CHAPTER 14: ITS QUIET
Suryel held an arm up to shield her sight from sunlight.
The warmth hit her skin like a lie, pleasant enough to betray the danger lurking behind the brightness. Her eyes watered as she squinted.
Every detail screamed ‘dream’ even before her mind fully processed— The way the shadows clung to the edges of tombstones, the soft hum of nothingness in the air, the stillness of leaves that wasn’t peace.
She was standing in the undead cemetery dreamscape.
"Fuck." She said and started running. Her inner compass clicked to the nearest sanctuary again. The sun was already setting and it felt as if it had an extra urgency within its slip to the horizon this time.. She forced herself to ignore it.
‘Focus. That’s not the worst of your problems.’ She thought and observed as she kept her pace. One step, then another.
The muscles in her legs burned, calves and thighs tightening into knots, but she did not have the time to feel. Her gut churned— Not from hunger, but the primal certainty that she was being hunted.
Every instinct she had honed through street chaos, every fight she had survived, every alley she had turned in panic, screamed ‘Do. Not. Stop.’!
The cemetery dreamscape felt extremely quiet today, so quiet it hurt.
She could hear the faint scrape of her own shoes over stone, the quiet whisper of dried leaves curling in place, the hollow distant thump of shifting earth somewhere behind a mausoleum, like the dead was stretching to take a breath.
The dream felt stretched, like someone had paused the tape, and left her alone within its frame. Every shadow seemed like it could stretch a hand to grab her. Every sound felt louder and sharper. The sun was gone, but the dead weren't rising… Like a bigger predator had come out.
Suryel scanned her surrounding with her eyes, increasing her pace.
The crunching of the dried leaves underneath her feet, combined with the thudding of her heart and gasping breath, might even be enough to make her jump.
She remembered her last dream, and she knew— Its already here, and it had already taken its warm ups. It was out there waiting for her.
She gasped as she kept running, her lungs and muscles burning and aching, it screamed in syllables she could not articulate. She felt the scrape of her shoulder against a jagged tombstone, the sting of a branch that raked across her cheek.
A small necessary price to pay for her fear… And safety.
The nearest sanctuary felt further today.
Every stride brought her closer but further from control.
She counted her breaths, she counted her steps— If she did not, panic would swallow her whole like a ravished dog. She imagined her heart pounding against her ribs as if it wanted to jump out of her chest and lay down on the path to slow her down.
‘It knows that I am here.’ Her gut told her.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Then. Suryel heard a ‘skittering’ noise, like what the trees made when the wind blows through them. But she heard it on the ground. Behind her.
Suryel didn't have to look to know that it had started to give chase.
"Nope.", She told herself when she slipped and almost stumbled.
She resisted the urge to look back. And vowed, that she would not give it the pleasure, of seeing her fear reflected in her eyes— Even though she felt that even her feet wanted to betray and run away without her.
‘I wish my hands could be extra feet.’ She thought.
Only in the city did she learn to survive like this. Dodging cars, weaving through with crowds, balancing on uneven sidewalks while avoiding collision with the walking dead, the living. Rain or shine, twenty-four seven, three hundred sixty five days in a year.
Her mind ran calculations faster than her legs ever could— Scanning her options for shortcuts, and plotting side steps that could save her milliseconds.
Her instincts screamed orders, and she obeyed. If that meant she could out run and out pace whatever that is.
Her senses were alive with the 'No. Just No.' energy of someone: Born. Raised. And baptized in peak city chaos and survivability.
Her vision pulsed and shook— Finally, shelter was within her view.
Suryel felt danger, prickly air rushed and aimed for her feet, she pushed everything within to run forward, the final stretch.
She tripped, barreled into a roll, and her shoulder hit the inner wall of the small Chapel— She felt the searing pain from the impact within her bones and winced, curled up, and nursed the pain.
Her head whipped up when she heard a long low chuckle.
She saw it— The black cloak.
Just standing there beyond the open door. It didn’t breathe. It didn’t move.
It was just… Toeing the line— Like it wanted to confirm. Make sure that she saw. And that she understood, that it cannot cross.
It stood there studying. She can feel it smiling in amusement with a hint of: ‘I almost got you. Too bad. You are in luck. This time'. She took a deeper breath, the hair on her back and arms standing. She swore she saw, and felt sharp white teeth smiling, within the shadow of the hood.
It held up two slender prune-like fingers and spoke low, "Day 2."
Suryel jolted awake, heaving and gasping. She sat up so quickly she felt dizzy. The pain of hitting the wall still present on her side. Then… Across the ICU ward— One after the other and almost at the same time.
Heart machines erupted to a low humming and beeping rhythm: ‘Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep—’
‘Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep—’
‘Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep—’
‘Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep—’
Almost all other patients. In the ICU ward went to code. There were thirty seven beds that were caught in a red steady line. Like Death himself pulled up with a hearse and decided to play a game of 'Russian Roulette'.
Stets hit the floor. MDs pumped in uncoordinated rhythm. There were loud deafening attempts to restore order to chaos. Beds creaked at 100 compressions per minute. There were stressed and bluescreening interns, and some random RN was shouting, "WHO SAID THE Q-WORD?!"
The fluorescent lights were dull yet harsh, the smell of antiseptic was faint yet stung, and the machines beeped in rhythms not hers yet it felt that they were mocking her own heartbeat.
Her knees curled to her chest, rubbing her sore shoulder, and chewing her nails. Her body ached in places the dream hadn’t touched: knees, shoulder, jaw. Suryel tried to breathe— Each breath was shallow, tinged with the phantom panic of the dream.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever she had run from was still there, lurking in her mind, waiting for the next unconscious moment.
She held her head and screamed internally.
Author’s Note:
Hahahahaha. Did you know you can do CPR in the beat of the ‘Another One Bites The Dust’? :D
