heart (life 8/?)

The sound of the smashing glass was like a waterfall: all rushing and crashing; inevitable and not ashamed of being menacing about it.

She stood there looking down on this, the glass going everywhere, them pouring in... crawling in. Smashing everything they could and knocking over anything they couldn't.

It was like sitting in your rudderless dinghy, lost up that creek and then seeing the shitting Niagara falls.

'Fuck'.

Each smashed window was accompanied by a scream, which in turn was echoed by another in the distance; barely audible over the din, but definitely there.

As they battered their way in the wind came with them, bringing the stench of unwashed bodies, shit, semen. Feral and rotting, it made her retch every time.

She stepped back from the balcony to escape that noxious breeze, to get out of sight and to set herself to the task at hand: to getting the fuck out.

Where was the one that had tipped Nigel, set him off and brought them on? Where the hell had it gone?

She found the answer almost as quickly as she asked the question.

Standing ashen over the book-bag was a farce of a librarian; facing away, she could see the remains of a cliched librarian's cardigan... a torn skirt covered in God knows what... It was looking around, scanning the floor and seeing only books... seeing no explanation for the racket.

Pulling Claire from her belt she got her grip sorted: tight but relaxed. Thinking back to her practices in front of the mirror; to every-fucking-time she had had to do this.

Get into the chest -- that was the important thing. Go for the neck and then go down; get to that rotten heart... That fucking pump that kept these things going.

It had to be quiet and it had to be fast. If this thing let off another scream everything below would be up here and all over her ass. The odds would not be in her favour...

She raised Claire above her head -- the silver blade showed a few spots of rust, a few stains of blood -- and got ready to make a big sweep down. She was calm, too calm maybe? You can get used to anything...

Stepping forwards and swinging the machete back it caught the sunlight, casting a spot of light on the floor near the book bag.

She could see it spinning round, almost in slow motion -- acting exactly like a kitten would have, following the dot... chasing it right up until it saw her.

'Fuck'.

It had one eye and it was fixed firmly on her. It tilted its head and she could see the saliva dripping from the mouth.

'Fuck'.

She lunged, hoping to catch it before it could catch it's breath, before it opened its mouth.

Swinging wildly, pulling down with her all her strength it went in easily right down to the chest.

She let go of the knife and the librarian slumped backward into a heap on the floor.

Her ears were ringing, her heart was pounding... She took a breath an listened:

There was that unmistakable sound, echoing up from the stairwell below.

'Fuck'.