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Jun. 13th, 2009 21:57![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
schizoauthoressHad to stop, collect my thoughts. Would rather talk to you all via voice post, so that I could pretend you were on the other side, something...but the Boyfriend yelled at me for talking on the phone after we escaped the library, so...yeah. It's why I've been silent until now.
My friends-list knows I'm wild about zombie movies. Zombie anything, really. But all the zombie movies in the world don't prepare you for the sound and the sight at the FEEL of a hammer sinking into the half-rotted temple of a ghoul as you fight your way through a fucking oven of a parking garage. The fact that we had to wear multiple layers of clothing -- since we have no heavy jackets or anything -- made it harder to move. But it also made it harder for them to get teeth into our flesh, so that was a bonus.
Their hands dragged at me, but I was fighting hard, panicked, and I was strong enough to break free. I heard the Boyfriend up ahead -- asshole had taken the opportunity when they swarmed me to get away, not that I would have reacted any different. He was pounding on a door, yelling for whoever was in there to "Come out! Come out! It's your last chance!"
They had me by the messenger bag I'd slung over one shoulder. I flailed away at them with my hammer, barely aiming anymore -- anything to break their grip, you know? -- and then there was pain. Up from my left shoulder, so strong I nearly blacked out. I was screaming -- I don't know if I was crying or not, my face was soaked wet with sweat that stung just the same -- "I've been bit, I've been bit!"
The Boyfriend charged them, grabbed me up -- there was someone else there, not sure who at the time -- and the next thing I know, I'm sitting on the corrugated metal floor of a freight elevator, sobbing for breath and hacking so hard I can hardly get one. The Boyfriend is on his knees in front of me, and he's pulling at my clothing -- it hurts, but I don't have the strength or the air to protest. Another man is at the front of the elevator, and he's not looking at either of us.
My sweatshirt had -- has -- a big rip along the arm seam, but the layers underneath weren't torn. I hadn't been bitten, but the zombies who'd been grabbing onto my bag had dislocated my shoulder. The Boyfriend told me all this later. At the time, all I knew was that he stopped trying to pull my clothes off and relaxed a little. I closed my eyes. I was sure that he was going to take my hammer and bash my head in.
But he didn't. He and the other man -- Mr. C, I'll call him -- talked to each other in low voices. They talked for a lot longer than the elevator would have taken to get to the top -- the building only has 50 floors -- even I could tell that. I opened my eyes, curious, and saw that Mr. C would lean down every so often near the buttons that controlled the elevator and switch the floor it was going to, keeping us moving. I don't clearly recall what they were talking about -- too tired. But eventually we stopped on one of the floors where the freight elevator opened up into a break room.
The Boyfriend and Mr. C barricaded the doors. I probably sounded like I was whining when I asked if I could sleep, but they let me.
My friends-list knows I'm wild about zombie movies. Zombie anything, really. But all the zombie movies in the world don't prepare you for the sound and the sight at the FEEL of a hammer sinking into the half-rotted temple of a ghoul as you fight your way through a fucking oven of a parking garage. The fact that we had to wear multiple layers of clothing -- since we have no heavy jackets or anything -- made it harder to move. But it also made it harder for them to get teeth into our flesh, so that was a bonus.
Their hands dragged at me, but I was fighting hard, panicked, and I was strong enough to break free. I heard the Boyfriend up ahead -- asshole had taken the opportunity when they swarmed me to get away, not that I would have reacted any different. He was pounding on a door, yelling for whoever was in there to "Come out! Come out! It's your last chance!"
They had me by the messenger bag I'd slung over one shoulder. I flailed away at them with my hammer, barely aiming anymore -- anything to break their grip, you know? -- and then there was pain. Up from my left shoulder, so strong I nearly blacked out. I was screaming -- I don't know if I was crying or not, my face was soaked wet with sweat that stung just the same -- "I've been bit, I've been bit!"
The Boyfriend charged them, grabbed me up -- there was someone else there, not sure who at the time -- and the next thing I know, I'm sitting on the corrugated metal floor of a freight elevator, sobbing for breath and hacking so hard I can hardly get one. The Boyfriend is on his knees in front of me, and he's pulling at my clothing -- it hurts, but I don't have the strength or the air to protest. Another man is at the front of the elevator, and he's not looking at either of us.
My sweatshirt had -- has -- a big rip along the arm seam, but the layers underneath weren't torn. I hadn't been bitten, but the zombies who'd been grabbing onto my bag had dislocated my shoulder. The Boyfriend told me all this later. At the time, all I knew was that he stopped trying to pull my clothes off and relaxed a little. I closed my eyes. I was sure that he was going to take my hammer and bash my head in.
But he didn't. He and the other man -- Mr. C, I'll call him -- talked to each other in low voices. They talked for a lot longer than the elevator would have taken to get to the top -- the building only has 50 floors -- even I could tell that. I opened my eyes, curious, and saw that Mr. C would lean down every so often near the buttons that controlled the elevator and switch the floor it was going to, keeping us moving. I don't clearly recall what they were talking about -- too tired. But eventually we stopped on one of the floors where the freight elevator opened up into a break room.
The Boyfriend and Mr. C barricaded the doors. I probably sounded like I was whining when I asked if I could sleep, but they let me.