Envy, hate, rage. All these things made people act out of character. It had been one of the main lessons that’d been burned into her brain by her teachers at the Academy. The three most common motives for all crime. In those emotions, all of humanity had a dark side capable of doing anything.
When she was dead, she wondered, would she hate the living? Would she envy them all they had? Would their casual way of going about their lives fill her with rage? Would she feel anything at all, beyond the hunger she'd seen in their eyes?
Her lungs felt like they were going to burst. Air was a commodity she wasn't trading in she thought as she kept pushing forward. Gasping in one raged breath after another, she kept moving; not even realizing she’d stopped running a while ago and was just walking.
Finally, she stopped, collapsing to her knees in front of a pile of cars blocking the intersection in front of her. Sweat poured off her, mingled with blood. Behind her, the howls of the dead drew steadily closer. She sucked in air, but it felt like it was made of razors in her throat.
This was it. This was the end of the line.
Forcing herself to her feet, Bunny turned to face them. Though every muscle in her body screamed in protest, she lifted the bat and readied herself to go out fighting. She knew she should climb the cars, or at least try to, but knew she’d never make it.
She was tired. She was hungry. She was thirsty. She was in pain. She was done. Done with the madness of life. Done with the madness of afterlife. Done with the madness of everything.
Bunny Beckman, former Chicago police hero, most recently a stripper, was done living.
They crowded down the street, a mindless mob, bent only on one goal; to feed. She looked at them as she panted and steeled herself. The vacant faces, the hungry eyes, their broken and torn bodies. This was, as Dale had said, Hell. Belched forth onto the world, drowning humanity in blood and horror.
Gritting her teeth against it, shoving away her feelings of loss and despair, Bunny raised her eyes to them as they pushed towards her and screamed, "You want me, you ugly sons-of-bitches, come and take me!"
The crunch of metal behind her, the sound of footsteps on a car hood and the soft thud of a person landing. Looking to her right, she saw him, tall and heavily muscled, holding a long piece of pipe, looking towards the dead horde with something akin to boredom.
Still panting, she watched him as he turned to look at her. All the breath went out of her then, like being punched in the stomach. Half his face was missing. All that was left was that same yellow gaze she'd seen too much of.
"Can you climb?" he asked.
Bunny blinked. Looking back at the dead, she saw they were hesitating, looking not at her but the man beside her. Turning back to him, she tried to say something, anything, but words wouldn't come.
"Hey, can you climb?" he asked again.
"You're..." she started.
The mob pressed forward, hissing in hunger. Bunny raised the bat as she slid a step back, her mind reeling. This wasn't possible. In an impossible world, this still wasn't possible. Was it?
"Yeah," the man said. "But are you gonna let that stand between you and living?"
Bunny swallowed. "Not at the moment."
"Climb. I'll hold them here. Go two blocks south, to a clinic on the left. There's another live one there. She'll help you," the dead man next to her said.
Bunny nodded and turned to mount the hood of the car at her back. Behind her, the crowd moved in, held back only by the unknown in front of them. She looked down at him as he faced them, lifting the pipe to rest on his shoulder.
"Will you be okay?" she asked.
"Not my first dance," he told her. "Now hurry. They get over their fear of me pretty quick."
Bunny nodded and climbed the pile of cars, not looking back, not even when she heard the first skull crack.
Bunny made it a block. She would’ve made it farther, probably, but after a block, she simply collapsed. Exhaustion, hunger, and a possible concussion worked to conspire against her, draining her of the last of her strength. It had been a long, hard night, and the morning after had been little better.
After crawling over the cars, trying to ignore the sounds of the fighting behind her, she had rolled down the other side to the pavement, barely able to move. Out of pure determination, she’d drug herself to her feet and started walking, staggering mostly, onward.
The world danced in and out of her vision, tilting this way and that as she wove her way onward. She hurt, more than she’d ever imagined possible, and the long run from the dead had robbed her of what little strength she had after the terrible events in the club.
After only a single block, Bunny had pitched forward, face-down on the asphalt, unable to take another step. After several minutes, she’d managed to roll herself over, staring up at the sky, without really seeing it, and thought to herself a single thing.
This is not a bad place to die.
She didn't know how long she lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness. Minutes, maybe hours. All she had to offer had been offered, and she was beyond weary. She closed her eyes, ready to sleep.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she would wake up to find this had all been a bad dream. A terribly vivid nightmare and nothing more. The product of her own deep-seated resentment, sorrow, and sense
