He'd felt it the moment it happened: the tear of flesh as he'd haphazardly squeezed himself through an already-shattered window in his efforts to escape the hoard.
At first he'd been numb to it. The adrenaline coursing through him as he slid down a drainpipe and disappeared into the maze of side streets and alleys kept him sharp and focused. Even as the blood gradually began to form a dark red stain against the grubby white shirt on his back, he ran so quickly it would have put a bullet to shame.
It's when he's put enough distance between himself and the cluster of mottled corpses that he starts to feel the effects. With nothing but the open road ahead of him and a frankly pathetic amount of gauze left in his bag, Peter sees no choice but to press his hand over the deep cut and continue dragging himself on.
The sky is a foreboding shade of orange when the witch is brought to his knees with weakness. He kneels there on all fours taking deep breaths and blinking hard, willing himself not to pass out in such a vulnerable, open space.
If anybody comes this way, they'll steal what little you have. The dead will feast if they stumble upon you.
He loses the fight; slips into phases of unconsciousness, cupping the bloody gash through his shirt the whole while. Stupid, he thinks, scowling into the concrete below. It's so stupid to survive everything you have and then get taken out by a fucking cut. Figures you'd go out like this.
@wisenedup, semi-plotted starter!
Bill had developed an eye for spaces that Valerie would and wouldn’t fit into. He had also learned that she could fit into impressively narrow spaces, and that the signs could be minimal if he went slow. Sure, leaves would be bent and branches might break, but if he eased into a clearing on the side of the road, you’d have to be looking for the signs once he got out and did a little landscaping. He had done just such a thing that day, parking Valerie in a grove just off a highway that had been crowded in with trees. It would be a safe place for the night, he had figured, and he had wanted to get out and stretch his legs a little. Valerie’s solar panels were set up in their entirety; the weather had been turning and he wanted to make sure her batteries were all the way charged. With her in rest mode, he was sitting under an umbrella to her side, silently weaving away at what was going to be a bed roll made of old clothes and sheets he had collected. He worked away until twilight, only looking up when he realized that the light had shifted and orange was splashed across the sky like spilled paint. Setting his half-finished bedroll in his lap, he smiled to himself as he admired the view, letting his awareness of the world settle back in. The insects were singing, and the trees were whispering to each other. A few feet away, the golden retriever curled up on her own mat was staring into the trees, alert but not yet overly concerned. Bill scowled, immediately alert himself. “What is it, Cherish..?” He sat up, listening harder. Nothing, nothing… wait- the sound of laboured breaths, and something scraping against asphalt. “Stay,” Bill told his dog, rising carefully out of his chair and grabbing the sword that was resting on a nearby table as he set down his project. Holding the blade carefully, he moved through the underbrush separating his campsite from the road. He hovered just on the edge, eyes scanning, and then froze as he saw the figure collapsed near the middle of the road. The man’s white shirt was grimey, but what drew Bill’s eyes was the dark stain that matted the fabric and dribbled down his pants. “Oh, shit!” He immediately shifted into crisis mode, stuffing his sword into the sheath on his hip as, forgetting any danger, he left the brush at the side of the road and rushed to the fallen man. “Hey! You with me, man?” His hands open, he approached the guy, ready to jump back at a moment’s notice, but focused on the way too much blood that was coating his clothes. Bad! Bad! Hospital was, of course, his first thought, but those didn’t exist any more, so his mind flashed instead to his sewing kit and he groaned at the idea. “I’m Bill,” he said, kneeling beside the man he’d already decided was his patient.
