Snippet #2370609

"This is as far as I'll go. The police station should be three blocks straight ahead."

"This is more than enough, sweetie, thank you."

A pause. "Take care of yourself."

Hiding behind a dumpster, Mariam's brown eyes took in the pursed lips and hard look on the younger woman's face before her. She couldn't help feeling a certain tenderness in her heart. It was plain that Alyssa didn't trust Mariam to survive the journey to the police station but she had still respected her decision to go, though she did not hide her disapproval. Proud as she was, the younger woman said her final farewell with a slight nod and ran back the way they'd come, bat at the ready.

Mariam let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and looked up for a second. The sun shone bright above her, starting its descent to the west. It'd been a day and a half since she had received an email from a suspiciously-named "A" character. Since the world had been consumed by the plague of the living dead, Mariam had been taken in by a group of three people: Alyssa, her cousin and a musician of the spiky hair and ragged clothes variety. All of them her junior, they had provided protection in exchange for her cooking ability and access to a limited source of drugs. Plus, they had found her lab to be a good hiding place, though they weren't excited about the lack of windows.

For three months they had all stuck together and gotten through many a night filled with moans and the occasional scream. Alyssa and her comrades wouldn't have been Mariam's first choice for companions during such hard times but over time she had developed a fondness for all of them, for every evening full of conversation where, slowly but surely, they learned more about each other. It had been a nice arrangement.

Had Mariam received A's email a month ago - or even a week ago - she would've ignored it. The accusations against Paradome stirred her curious spirit but had to take a backseat to her survival. Except a mere three days ago, Alyssa's cousin had been bit during a food raid. Mariam took no part in those, as she'd be more of a distraction than an asset, but she saw it as soon as they had come back. Dante's eyes were bloodshot and he was slightly pale but he retained full use of his senses. The zombie had only bitten off the distal phalanges of his ring finger before being shot in the head by the musician.

That had been enough to break them. They all knew what happened when somebody was bit. A day later, Dante's condition had worsened, despite Mariam's best attempts to clean and disinfect the wound. That was all the motivation the musician required. He bid them good luck as he packed his belongings and left. Mariam had received the email a day later while trying to get her thoughts off Dante's severely weakened vital signs. She'd showed Alyssa. Through the initial skepticism, Alyssa had decided it would be best for Mariam to go. Her knowledge was needed elsewhere and, if true, bringing down Paradome should be the top priority in anyone's list. Yet Alyssa would not accompany her. She wanted to be beside her cousin in his last moments.

-----

The woman looked down at the street before her, in anticipation she strengthened the grip on her handheld mirror. Lucky for Mim, it was downhill all the way to the police station. Then she heard it. The sound of a shopping cart being pushed down a steep slope not four streets away. In the middle of the abandoned metropolis, the sound was audible at such a distance. It had been Alyssa's own idea to distract some undead.

It was also Mim's cue to start off at a brisk walk down. Because the shopping cart had been toppled some blocks left, she kept to the right side of the street, the zombies more interested in the previous, audible metallic noise than in her quiet footsteps. She got two blocks done before the memory of the shopping cart seemingly dissipated from the zombies' memory. Little by little, heads started tilting as she slid by, their nostrils taking in the scent of a living human.

Nervous, she began to recite the enzymes of the Krebs cycle to try to calm down, an old trick of hers. Citrate synthase. She broke into a brisker walk. Aconitase. The few zombies that stood between her and the station shifted towards her, the ones she'd left behind crept closer. Isocitrate dehydrogenase. Grimy hands reached out, offering her cruel death. Alpha ketoglutarate dehydrogenase. She looked up at the sun, fervently hoping that her observations were correct, her life had never depended on it as much. Succinyl CoA synthetase. The zombie before her locked a milky eye on her as she raised her hand. Succinate dehydrogenase. The sunlight reflected off her handheld mirror. Fumarase. The zombie jerked away with an unsatisfied groan. Malate dehydrogenase. Mariam released another withheld breath and broke into a full run, taking advantage of the opening.

A had mentioned in his email that they were to meet in the police station in the middle of the day, as zombies did not seem to like direct sunlight. Mariam's observations agreed with the statement. At first, she'd been confused because she'd also noticed that the unded mainly relied on the senses of hearing and smell. A night of deep thought and strong hopefulness had helped her construct a hypothesis of sorts. Humans did not use their sense of smell as their primary way to understand the world around them, but a strong, fetid odor would be enough to offput anyone. Maybe, she'd decided, zombies barely used their eyes to hunt but direct sunlight would too strong of a stimulus. It was small, but it was a weakness. She wondered how she would protect herself when their eyes rotted away completely.

In the mean time, the mirror was as good a weapon as she could get. It helped her get to the station, at least. Tentatively, she opened the door, hoping to find the rest of the people this A character had contacted. She stood in the doorway, alone. Nervous, she began fiddling with the lock on the knob. There was no sound coming from the inside. Had it all been a joke? She began once again, Citrate syntha- a groan behind her. In her excitement to reach the station, Mariam had forgotten about the undead that were shambling her way. She shut the door before they first zombie reached her.

And she stood there. Alone. Mariam was frozen by the silence. She stood by the entrance, looking at the desks around her. There were no human voices. Nor were there any groans of death soldiers (except for the insistent one outside the door). Barely any light came in from the scarce windows, if there were any zombies inside she would be powerless so she did not go investigate the station. She set down her mirror. Mim hadn't expected to be alone.

"H-Hello?" She called out. The only response came from a more insistent, undead, knocking at the door.

Maybe she was the first one to arrive, after all. The email had been too informed, known too much to be a farce that had gotten through her junk mail. Mariam climbed onto a desk and rested her head on the wall. She would wait. Well, she had to. With the sun setting, there'd be even less of a chance for her to return to Alyssa. Citrate synthase...

An hour passed. The insistent zombie had left about forty minutes ago.

And Mariam got the fright of her life as the entrance knob began twisting crazily without opening. The fright paralyzed her again. She'd never seen a zombie try to twist open a doorknob.

"Open, you little fucker! Open!"

...Or speak, for that matter. Mim hopped off the desk and examined the entrance door. She could see a lot of movement outside, more than she'd attribute a zombie. Why weren't they coming in?

It dawned on her.

Oh.

When fiddling with the knob, she'd left it locked. Terrified by her cluelessness, a wide-eyed Mariam hurried to open. Before her stood a younger girl with a bike who seemed ready to ram through the door. And an angry mob of zombies right behind her. What a popular girl.
"Come in, come in, hurry!" Mariam told her, ready to shut the entrance as soon as the cyclist got through.