✧ 31 ✧
All the dismembered mutilated bodies in the elevator shaft had two things in common; their skulls were smashed open and their brains were missing.
"AAAAHHH."
"AAAHH."
"AAAAAAHHHHHH."
The high-pitched screams came from everywhere.
Ilya gasped and turned. He didn't know where to run... but he knew that he was supposed to run.
Ilya hopped off the pile of bodies and winced. Then his eyes widened.
"Oh, no."
He clutched his leg. Something felt sore. The fall had twisted his ankle.
There was no time to waste. Ilya started limping with what was left of his strength. Despite the pain, he managed to speed up his movement. Step by step, he found himself at an intersection.
Ilya swallowed hard as he shined the flashlight at the dark paths, fearing that he might encounter the horde of shriekers any second now.
The deafening shrieks echoed from two hallways, while the one on the left seemed quieter. And that was where Ilya walked through, guided only by hope—hoping he didn't just make a deadly turn.
The hungry screams felt like spiders crawling on his bare back. The horde seemed so close, loud, and terrifying. Ilya kept limping his way through the darkness, but his breath was running low.
Ilya leaned on a wall, panting breathlessly.
The walls were closing in on him. His eyes blurred everything in his path. Even with his flashlight, things appeared dim and dark. All objects pulsed around him. The world spun and spun, making him dizzier and dizzier.
Everything was pulsing in rhythm with his rapid heartbeat, getting bigger then smaller. The narrow corridors tightened around him, suffocating him, then releasing him. His head spun with the spinning walls around him.
"Shit," Ilya cursed under his breath. "Hypo... glycemia."
His condition was getting worse. His blood sugar level had gotten dangerously low. If he doesn't find the right nutrition soon he'll collapse.
Ilya didn't know how he was still standing. He was supposed to crumple. He should have crumpled hours ago. He leaned on the walls and limped, determined to escape a cruel death by the zombie shriekers.
All the doors he encountered were locked. Just his luck. However, he kept going.
Those screaming creatures won't stop until they catch him. And when they do, he'll be ripped apart piece by piece while he watched, very consciously, crying in excruciating pain.
Their shrieks didn't echo anymore. They traveled straight through the hallway. That was when Ilya knew—They found him.
They were following the smell of his fresh sweat and blood, starving for a taste of his brain.
Ilya whimpered when he realized that his time in this world was coming to an end. He was tempted to stay put and give up, but something inside him pushed him beyond his limits.
Ilya kept going.
He turned around a corner and heard shrieks right behind him. Then—Thud!
Ilya gasped and pointed his flashlight at the path behind him.
Thud, THUD!
His pastel green eyes went wide as he witnessed the gruesome scene.
THUD, THUD, THUD!
The shriekers were piling up on each other as they slammed into that corner.
Their teeth were flying from the brutal impact, and their arms were bent at painful angles, yet they didn't stop moving. They all squirmed and pushed faster than anything Ilya had ever seen before.
They were in berserk mode. Zombies on steroids.
Then all at once, their eyes glowed with a milky white hue when they spotted the human boy. Their stare made Ilya fall back, feeling surrounded by starving hyenas, only these hyenas had deafening voices they used as shrieks instead of laughs.
Each one of the shriekers fought one another to get the first tender juicy bite.
When his legs couldn't carry him anymore, Ilya started crawling backward. The sight and sounds in front of him shook him to the core.
A shrieker managed to escape the pile and sprinted towards Ilya. Arms flew and legs crossed in a chaotic pattern but with frightening speed.
Ilya crossed his arms in front of his face and screamed right when the zombie jumped at him.
His scream morphed into a gasp when something pulled him from the side. The next thing Ilya knew, he was face-down on the floor of a candle-lit room.
He heard the door shut with a clank and some angry banging on that metal entry. Their voices were muffled, fighting each other and piling up again.
Ilya sat up, groaning. He fell on his broken wrist and it shot pain throw his bones. His eyes were screwed shut and didn't open until a soft voice came from behind him.
"Are you OK?"
Ilya quickly spun to see a woman standing by the door, where a piece of iron plank was used to seal it shut.
Her clothes were ragged and dirty to the point Ilya couldn't tell the style or color of them. Her face was hidden under a messy shaggy pile of tangled red hair. Her fingernails and toenails were black.
She looked awful.
But all that didn't matter to Ilya. What mattered was she saved his life.
"Thank you," Ilya said in a raspy weak voice.
"Oh, you poor thing." She kneeled to touch his chin and smiled. "Don't mention it."
Rotten teeth. Bad breath. But it didn't matter.
She was nice. She was human. The first human he met in this town.
Ilya cleared his throat and asked, "May I have some water?"
"Of course!" She pointed with a bony finger. "The sink is over there."
Ilya got up with difficulty and rushed to the sink. He turned the water on and downed it in a hurry. He drank for a while to regain all the fluids he'd lost from all the running. He gulped and gulped until he was satisfied.
He closed his eyes and let out an exaggerated exhale. Finally, he felt refreshed, but he was still shaking.
He wiped his mouth and said, "You're a lifesaver."
"Ah, shucks." The woman said as she got busy setting up some dishes. "And you're in luck! I was about to serve dinner, or breakfast, maybe lunch." She laughed. "I can't tell what time it is in this building."
Ilya understood her. There were no windows or doors to tell if it was day or night. Yet, he smiled. He was starving, and he couldn't believe luck had finally smiled at him to arrive at this woman's place in time for a meal.
The woman started humming.
When Ilya turned, he flinched and took a step back, clasping the sink behind him.
The blood froze in his veins. His face turned white as a sheet as if he saw a ghost.
The woman had her back turned at Ilya. She was casually setting up the dining table. Spoons, forks, knives, and plates. Like any normal person. However, a normal person wouldn't be able to even stand on two feet when a chunk of their back was missing.
That was what the woman was missing—a large chunk of her back.
Her ribs were on display. Her lungs, heart, and spinal cord were all visible. Dried-up blood clung to the ripped skin around her wound. Glistening dark rotten meat moved as she painlessly walked from chair to chair to make everything perfect for the meal.
Ilya gulped and kept his mouth shut. He didn't know what he was dealing with, but a feeling in the pit of his stomach told him to run.
Run where?
The door was jammed with a horde of blood-thirsty corpses. It was safer to stay here than go out there.
Yet Ilya didn't feel safe.
"Time to eat."
Ilya snapped his head back to the woman. She was holding a knife in each hand and sitting happily at the table, but there was no food served.
A large plate sat in the middle of the table.