What Lies at The End
“Okay, okay! Grab hold of my hand! I’ll pull you out!” Caitlyn reaches out a helping hand to Francesca, hoping with all her heart that she will not regret this decision. The both of them scream, one pulling, one pushing. Slowly, they begin to budge. Francesca falls forward, but she does not quite manage to clear the door before it closes on her knee. Outside, the bear is still biting onto her leg with all the hunger of a starving vegan confronted with a shipping container packed with soya beans. Caitlyn falters, wondering if she should continue pulling Francesca out, try to push the door open so that more of her can squeeze in, or just run.
The decision is made for her a split second later. The combination of pressure from the door and the tugging of the bear pops Francesca’s knee loose. Then, there is a wet, ripping noise of meat being torn apart. Francesca drops to the ground, her eyes wide and her face pale. The door smoothly slides shut with a loud squish, mulching whatever connections were left between her thigh and calf. It takes a few seconds before the pain begins to register. She arches her back and begins rocking back and forth, clutching the ragged mess of flesh and bone and nerves that was once her leg. Blood streams from between her fingers ceaselessly, spurting forth in great gushes that paint the ground red.
On her part, Caitlyn can only stand there with a confused, fearful look on her face. What should I do? A tourniquet? But how do I make one? She was not Edgar, or even Quack-Quack. Caitlyn has not had the need to perform first aid on anyone in her life, not even once. It was something doctors, nurses and first-responders did. Not her.
This! This is how you do it! Quickly! Please!
Francesca’s sharp, hoarse thought cuts through the mental screaming that had been filling Caitlyn’s head. An instructional image appears in her mind. How to bind a tourniquet for the leg. It is hazy. Before Caitlyn can commit it to memory, it dissolves, washed away by Francesca’s anguished shrieks.
Caitlyn shakes her head, trying to clear it. She is not confident that she will do it correctly, but she will at least try…
***
Edgar brings his fleshless pinky up to his mouth. He bites it at the base of the joint, his rotted teeth sawing against the ligaments. Gripping firmly with his jaw, he jerks his head, hard. The finger bone snaps off easily enough, and Edgar spits it onto the floor. It clatters across the tiles. Then comes the task of bandaging: the knife helps with that, cutting some of his extraneous rags into small strips useful enough to bind the open wound. Once that is done, Edgar reaches over and picks up his disembodied finger. He stuffs it down his pants.
It is a part of him after all. Waste not, want not. There could be a use for it later.
Muttering to himself, Edgar leaves the cafeteria and heads for the swimming pool.
When he arrives, he sees a curious sight. The swimming pool is devoid of water, yet there are splashes of water all around and a wet trail leading off to the side. Someone had taken a swim recently. Was it Quack-Quack? Gripping the knife tightly, Edgar stalks the trail until he reaches the lockers. One of it is open, and from the marks, it seems that the person had left the pool and entered the locker. The trail ends there, however. Edgar kneels down, grumbling. There is water seeping through from the bottom of the back panel. Not a lot of it, but it is there. Something hidden in the back.
Perhaps a secret passage. Perhaps Quack-Quack is there.
He reaches out a hand to push the panel, but his fingers stop just short of it.
There is the sound of something scratching behind him. Claws tracing streaks across the tiles. The sound of heavy panting, from a large animal at least human in size.
So… it’s caught up…
Edgar’s eyes glitter. He can feel the old blood coming back. Rushing. Hot. Eager to battle. Eager to kill. With a grin, he whirls around…
***
Quack-Quack squeezes through the narrow corridor. It is barely wide enough for him to make it through, and low enough that he is perpetually hunched. The walls and floor are all made from cold metal. He sneezes. That little swim did not agree with him. As he walks, he notices that there is a slight incline. Quack-Quack is slowly and steadily progressing upwards.
What lies at the end of the corridor?
Better be some nice chow. Some bitches would be good too. Finding the motherfucker behind all this would be double-A best.
So he continues to walk, not knowing where he will end up…
---END---