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Rachel - Interactive Story - scene 12
🕑 Added 2024-07-05 00:08:58 +0000 UTCRachel glances at Bailey, her voice low. "I'm taking this girl with us. Go into your bedroom, get what you need, but be quick and quiet."
Bailey nods, her eyes narrowing with focus and draw tightening. "Got it." She darts out of the bathroom and down the hall.
Rachel crouches down beside the drugged woman, her eyes scanning the glazed, unfocused gaze. She needs to get this woman moving, but OxyContin has her in a fog. Rachel gently shakes the woman's shoulders, her voice firm but calm. "Oi, wake up. We need to move now."
The woman groans, barely registering the command. Rachel turns the faucet, cold water splashing into the sink, then cups her hand and throws the icy water onto the woman's face. The woman's eyes flutter open, a hint of awareness creeping in.
"Come on, love. Time to get up." Rachel slips an arm under the woman's shoulders, hoisting her to her feet. "What's your name?"
The woman blinks, her voice a slurred murmur. "Daisy."
"Alright, Daisy. Let's get moving." Rachel slips her arm firmly around Daisy's waist, feeling the woman's weight shift heavily against her. With each step, Rachel adjusts her grip, guiding Daisy. She makes sure their feet avoid loose tiles and creaky floorboards. Daisy's head lolls slightly, her eyes struggling to focus, but Rachel keeps her upright as they inch forward.
The creak of floorboards downstairs signals movement. Rachel's pulse quickens as she steers Daisy towards the back bedroom. Inside, she finds Bailey crouched over a backpack, her hands moving quickly. Clothes are tossed in, one after another, her fingers trembling slightly as she zips and unzips compartments. Sweat beads on Bailey's forehead, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts.
Suddenly, the pounding of footsteps echoes from the stairs. A young man appears, his clothes dirty and torn, his eyes wide with fear and desperation. He stumbles, tripping over his feet and crashing to the floor with a grunt.
From downstairs, the guttural growls of zombies grow louder. Two of them sprint up the stairs, their decayed forms moving with a terrifying speed towards the fallen man.
Rachel's mind races, weighing her options. She can draw her pistol, risking the noise that might draw the zombies to the bedroom. She can place Daisy on the bed and dash out to help the man, risking her safety. Or she can close the bedroom door and focus on getting Daisy and Bailey out of there.
