For the first few nights Laura had starved. She’s screamed until her throat was raw; mainly she’d called out for Mackinnley and had regretted leaving him behind as soon as she’d got lost. But she was lost, and she felt like a mouse stuck in a maze. She soon even began to think that she was being watched, paranoia splintering her bones and making her shiver. She had learned her lesson not to feed on the humans who looked like they knew what they were doing; their blood burned, and left her gasping for breath that she did not need.
On the fourth night she got so desperate that she made her fingers bleed as she circled the walls and tried to find some purchase, some wall that wasn’t a wall but was instead a door. But she found nothing. Once she stumbled into a room filled with ravenous zombie dogs; as soon as the first one tore a hole in her leg and left a huge gouge in her neck she had fled, and hadn’t tried to find hidden doors anymore. Even the sword she had acquired did no good against those creatures. They hardly did any good against the mooncalves, either, which she avoided like the plague. She did quite well against the Ancients, however—and rather than go mad, that’s what she did. She killed the Ancients. She searched for weapon parts with which to make new swords once she got out. If ever she got out.
Starvation, at least, led to one good thing. Instinctively, she learned how to lure humans. Mainly, they must have come from the army base surrounding the entrance to the catacombs. That was what confused Laura. How had she got in? How had she got past them? She soon forgot completely about the entrance from the sewers and instead figured it was a wrong place at the wrong time kind of thing. She’d stumbled in and they’d erected the barricades afterward. And now she could not get out again.
But whatever the case, she found out that if she focused, if she concentrated, the humans would come to her. In a daze, it was as if they couldn’t even see her. She could feed on them and leave them and they would be none the wiser. Not really.
Assuming she was completely trapped until the army moved on, Laura got settled. Her blonde hair was matted, in knots. She tried to get it to stay in a bun on top of her head and soon just tied it there with other loose strands of hair. Her alabaster skin was marred with dirt and grime. The overlarge bag over her shoulder clinked with all the spare parts she had collected. She was barefoot, her shoes long since worn out. The jeans had holes in them, and the shirt was tattered rags. She may as well have just been walking around in a bra.
But what else could she do? She craved a long hot bath. But none was forthcoming. She began to live down there, in the catacombs. Never leaving. Giving up hope that her Mackinnley would find her. How could he, with the barricades up and the army keeping him out? She often cried herself to sleep ensconced in a corner. Alone, bereft, and wanting only to slip into a coma from which she would never awaken. What was the point anymore? What was the damned ******* point?
So there it was, the point at which she gave up. There was a niche in the wall. Maybe it was once a grave for bones that had long since crawled out of it. Now she crawled in. She curled up, leaving her bag in the hall outside, not caring if it was stolen. She curled up – at least comfortable and content, happy in the tight enclosed space. She willed herself to ignore the hunger. To let the lethargy take over; to willingly slip into that black hole that she felt constantly hung over her head. She had no idea how long she had been down here. But escape was not imminent. So she gave up. This was no way to live, she reminded herself. Maybe she would wake up somewhere better.
On the fourth night she got so desperate that she made her fingers bleed as she circled the walls and tried to find some purchase, some wall that wasn’t a wall but was instead a door. But she found nothing. Once she stumbled into a room filled with ravenous zombie dogs; as soon as the first one tore a hole in her leg and left a huge gouge in her neck she had fled, and hadn’t tried to find hidden doors anymore. Even the sword she had acquired did no good against those creatures. They hardly did any good against the mooncalves, either, which she avoided like the plague. She did quite well against the Ancients, however—and rather than go mad, that’s what she did. She killed the Ancients. She searched for weapon parts with which to make new swords once she got out. If ever she got out.
Starvation, at least, led to one good thing. Instinctively, she learned how to lure humans. Mainly, they must have come from the army base surrounding the entrance to the catacombs. That was what confused Laura. How had she got in? How had she got past them? She soon forgot completely about the entrance from the sewers and instead figured it was a wrong place at the wrong time kind of thing. She’d stumbled in and they’d erected the barricades afterward. And now she could not get out again.
But whatever the case, she found out that if she focused, if she concentrated, the humans would come to her. In a daze, it was as if they couldn’t even see her. She could feed on them and leave them and they would be none the wiser. Not really.
Assuming she was completely trapped until the army moved on, Laura got settled. Her blonde hair was matted, in knots. She tried to get it to stay in a bun on top of her head and soon just tied it there with other loose strands of hair. Her alabaster skin was marred with dirt and grime. The overlarge bag over her shoulder clinked with all the spare parts she had collected. She was barefoot, her shoes long since worn out. The jeans had holes in them, and the shirt was tattered rags. She may as well have just been walking around in a bra.
But what else could she do? She craved a long hot bath. But none was forthcoming. She began to live down there, in the catacombs. Never leaving. Giving up hope that her Mackinnley would find her. How could he, with the barricades up and the army keeping him out? She often cried herself to sleep ensconced in a corner. Alone, bereft, and wanting only to slip into a coma from which she would never awaken. What was the point anymore? What was the damned ******* point?
So there it was, the point at which she gave up. There was a niche in the wall. Maybe it was once a grave for bones that had long since crawled out of it. Now she crawled in. She curled up, leaving her bag in the hall outside, not caring if it was stolen. She curled up – at least comfortable and content, happy in the tight enclosed space. She willed herself to ignore the hunger. To let the lethargy take over; to willingly slip into that black hole that she felt constantly hung over her head. She had no idea how long she had been down here. But escape was not imminent. So she gave up. This was no way to live, she reminded herself. Maybe she would wake up somewhere better.
