Was she really asking him what was wrong? R shot her a look. How would he know? This was a first: zombies weren't all that great at firsts.
R was trying to work out how to talk around the tar bubbling out his mouth and remember his grammar; even his hunger was distracted now because he'd seen how other Dead starve. This didn't happen. Zombies got hungry enough to attack anything moving or eventually just gave up and let themselves die somewhere. Not this. Whatever was going on here. He was starting to think this might be pain after all; real, honest pain, pain he’d wondered what it’d be like the first time he got shot and felt nothing. It'd be a relief to finally feel if he wasn't in the middle of an Arena, stuck there with Julie looking like she'd bolt if he moved too fast or looked at her wrong. He couldn’t blame her. She was a smart girl. She’d know when to run.
Talk to Julie. She wanted him to talk. So he tried:
"Hngungry...not...starv....st - yet," R by now was having trouble propping himself up even with Julie helping, his arms starting to twitch on him like someone else was at the wheel. He sagged against Julie, trying his best not to get black vomit all over her.
“Don’t…know. New…?”
R managed to turn his head just in time as he convulsed: he heaved, his body reacting while he played catching up. Oil splattered against the lake’s bank, narrowly missing Julie’s leg. R hadn’t figured out he should be scared. It was the human thing to do. Zombies weren’t known for the self-preservation thing and R was still busy trying to figure out a way to get up and fix the damage he caused. Looking up at Julie’s face, he could see right now he wasn’t helping. Some of what she was thinking flitted across her eyes, visible above her elbow. Leave and live? Stay and help the corpse who almost ate me? Choices, choices. Through the pain, R realized the organs he had were collapsing in on themselves, shriveling as the poison hit its end stage.
So long kidneys. Wish I knew you better, small intestines. Not even sure what you did, stomach.
He must be dying. The pathetic thing was R wasn’t ready: he still had things to groan, starting with Julie. What if this was a new infection? Another stage, because it wasn’t bad enough to be a walking, rotting corpse.
no subject
R was trying to work out how to talk around the tar bubbling out his mouth and remember his grammar; even his hunger was distracted now because he'd seen how other Dead starve. This didn't happen. Zombies got hungry enough to attack anything moving or eventually just gave up and let themselves die somewhere. Not this. Whatever was going on here. He was starting to think this might be pain after all; real, honest pain, pain he’d wondered what it’d be like the first time he got shot and felt nothing. It'd be a relief to finally feel if he wasn't in the middle of an Arena, stuck there with Julie looking like she'd bolt if he moved too fast or looked at her wrong. He couldn’t blame her. She was a smart girl. She’d know when to run.
Talk to Julie. She wanted him to talk. So he tried:
"Hngungry...not...starv....st - yet," R by now was having trouble propping himself up even with Julie helping, his arms starting to twitch on him like someone else was at the wheel. He sagged against Julie, trying his best not to get black vomit all over her.
“Don’t…know. New…?”
R managed to turn his head just in time as he convulsed: he heaved, his body reacting while he played catching up. Oil splattered against the lake’s bank, narrowly missing Julie’s leg. R hadn’t figured out he should be scared. It was the human thing to do. Zombies weren’t known for the self-preservation thing and R was still busy trying to figure out a way to get up and fix the damage he caused. Looking up at Julie’s face, he could see right now he wasn’t helping. Some of what she was thinking flitted across her eyes, visible above her elbow. Leave and live? Stay and help the corpse who almost ate me? Choices, choices. Through the pain, R realized the organs he had were collapsing in on themselves, shriveling as the poison hit its end stage.
So long kidneys. Wish I knew you better, small intestines. Not even sure what you did, stomach.
He must be dying. The pathetic thing was R wasn’t ready: he still had things to groan, starting with Julie. What if this was a new infection? Another stage, because it wasn’t bad enough to be a walking, rotting corpse.