He flicked the syringe, peering into tempered glass as tiny bubbles cleared from liquid green. It was his last dose. In twelve hours he would need more... But that could wait. The only thing that mattered now was his fix. He needed it. Bad.
He was starting to lose it.
Cold sweats. Trembling hands. Hot flashes. And a dissociated feeling in the back of his mind. He was slipping deeper into the distant haze with each passing minute. The clock on the classroom wall ticked slowly, counting off the seconds until his worst nightmare.
Biting worn leather he pulled a belt taught against his upper arm, cutting circulation with a makeshift tourniquet. As a vein appeared he steadied the syringe. The cold needle punctured warm skin with a familiar sting. A bloom of red flooded the chamber and mixed intimately with neon green. He pushed the plunger. Liquid warmth seeped into infected blood.
He was drifting–gold eyes glossed over with a chemical haze. A euphoric heat glowed like a sunset in his veins. He focused a stare that roamed the empty classroom, settling on the empty vial he’d held only moments before.
Zombrex: An experimental drug that was growing increasingly harder to obtain.
In the early stages of the outbreak there had been numerous attempts at a cure. A way to irradiate the virus, to destroy it without killing its host. And for every attempt at a new vaccine there had been an epic failure. With the rapid spread of infection and the inability to stop it, an experimental drug had been implemented into society as a last resort. Unfortunately, it could only keep the infected stable for a limited period of time.
Specifically–12 hours.
The exact amount of time he had left if he didn’t obtain some soon. And he knew exactly where it was. The mental image was crystal clear. An abandoned hospital a block from the school.
So close!
Pitch black. No electricity. Infested with corpses that could hunt you down by scent. And his only weapon required a proper line of sight, completely useless in the dark. But he was gonna have to go back there. Alone. A trip he had barely survived the first time. And he didn’t have a choice. Because in this world you either fought corpses or you were one. And that was a battle he wasn’t willing to lose.
Before he could plot out his next course of action he heard a reluctantly familiar sound. A distinctive moan...somewhere outside the classroom!
Suddenly he was pulled from the haze, sobered by adrenaline as his pulse lept into overdrive. He stood and stumbled, drug leaded hands fumbling a stolen crossbow–a godsend he’d salvaged from the campus archery. Grabbing his quiver he slung the sheath over a slender shoulder.
Shit. Only six arrows left. He would have to steal more soon.
Lifting a dart he loaded the gun, cocking the bow as an arrow locked securely into place. He pulled the blinds and cracked a classroom window, stealthily seeking a target. He paused briefly when he spied the shark, taking in the horrific scene with a sharpshooter’s calculating gaze. Rin Matsuoka? What the hell was he doing here?
And lifted his gun.
Gold eyes narrowed as careful hands took aim. He steadied himself against the windowsill, cautiously peering through a scoped sight. As he centered an unsuspecting target in the cross hairs of a bow-gun, his finger tightened on the trigger. A gleaming arrow fired, shooting past Rin, grazing strands of russet wine as it raced toward its intended target at lethal speed.
Sharp silver pierced a dead eye, impaling an infected brain with a sickening whoosh! And as his Home Economics teacher fell to the pavement with a spastic jerk, Momo smirked. His triumph filled voice called through the window at the only living human for miles.
“Hey Senpai, grab that arrow and get your ass in here!”
