The Webs We Weave
Note: This update just goes to show what nice people messaging me can do. I am sorry this took so long, but I've been extremely busy. I could go into a list of the things I've been doing, but I don't want to bore you.
R&R? It gets the author juices flowing.
During chapter 3 of the Spider... timeline.
He was absolutely terrified and wondering when he got so noble. He could have ran without covering the hole and been on his way, no problem. He could climb one of the lamp posts and save himself – zombies couldn't climb (he hoped they couldn't climb.) After that, they'd realize they couldn't get him and go after the group. He could be perfectly safe in a matter of moments, and all he'd have to do is wait for the group to disperse. The bone deep fear he was experiencing made him consider doing so. But he'd deny it to his deathbed.
Except to climb and lose the horde left the group in danger, and he couldn't do that. Even if the hole was blocked, so long as the creatures were surrounding it there was potential danger. If they all chased him and got away from the broken window, then they'd eventually forget it was there, and the group would be safe. He just needed to run. He needed to run far, and he needed to run fast.
However the feel of coagulated blood squishing between his toes slowed him, as did the dark howl of the undead. It was haunting to be sure. A noise Hollywood did no justice to. He slipped in a pool of some kind of gore, saving himself from going face first into a pile of intestines by twisting his body. Instead he landed on one arm, and bashed the back of his head against the unconventional cushion.
He laid for a moment.
Then he realized he was resting in another person's guts and almost retched. The pounding of feet made him groan and stumble to his feet. They were a decent distance from the school, with the monsters only just rounding the corner, but they'd left the window. At the very least that promised the safety of whoever was hiding out in the school.
Now he needed to worry about himself.
So he looked about himself, debating his options. He could pull his guns, but there was no way he could take out all of the zombies on his own. He could out run them… for a limited amount of time. He could already feel himself beginning to wear down. The zombies didn't get tired, at least not in his experience. He needed to get somewhere, safe, fast. And the old looking oak in the distance looked quite appealing.
He ran to it, quick as a shot, and took a running leap at the lowest branch he saw. He missed. He jumped again, and missing a second time. The zombies were coming. He jumped a third time and only saved himself from breaking his ankle by falling into a roll. "Damn," he whispered to himself. "Malachi, what have you gotten yourself into?"
He placed a foot against the tree, and tried to use it as leverage. He tried to find a toe hole, but he kept slipping. He couldn't figure out why until he noticed every time his foot hit the ground a strip of the undead was pulled from the treads of his sneakers. He couldn't climb because he was slippery. He wasn't getting any traction.
So he slipped the sneakers off, and got onto the lowest branch in time to hear a zombie slam into the trunk of the tree.
The waiting game began.