Untitled [Nick | Mary]
Surviving during the apocalypse was hard enough before, but now with a lack of three others to be watching his back for him, surviving has been almost damn near impossible. As much as Nick enjoyed moving from place to place, he actually ended up spending more than half his time holed up in some abandoned building, not wishing to go out in fear of being caught off guard. This was one of the rare times of which he needed to move, having completely depleted all of his supplies in the past week.
Perhaps he should have just stayed inside anyway.
It had come a lot quicker than the conman had even expected. One minute he was carefully trudging down the abandoned street, the only sound being his shoes quietly slapping against the pavement. Then suddenly, a cough echoed through the night, and Nick was being pulled backwards, nearly tripping him in the process.
The tongue had shot out from somewhere behind him, tightly wrapping around his midsection and pinning his arms down to his body. With each pull, he become farther and farther away from his original spot, breaths becoming more and more shallower as his chest continued to be restricted.
A loud yelp, and a few extremely winded profanities could be heard from him as he was finally pulled off his feet, connecting with the pavement below, the only cushion being the appendage currently suffocating him.
His old poker buddies used to joke that he’d be killed because of him being a smoker. Guess in a way, they were kind of right.