Five Rules

Robyn had grown accustomed to evading vampires. That is to say; Robyn had grown, accustomed to evading vampires. After all, one couldn't happen without the other. A person needed to grow to learn the dangers and if they didn't learn quick they wouldn't grow further. "Time to go," Ratty hissed.  Robyn held a finger to her mouth and shook her head. In the murky darkness she couldn't be sure her meaning was clear.  "Come on," Ratty continued, ignoring her warning. "We're clear." Robyn's instincts screamed for silence but railed against letting Ratty move at the same time. She tried sign, worrying the shadows would rob her gestures of their meaning. Ratty's face, what she could see of it, told her the concern was warranted. "No," she whispered, dropping her hands. "It's a swarm." She thought she could make out the doubtful twisting of his already pinched features.  "It's just stragglers." She shook her head again, signing the word as she mouthed, "Swarm." Ratty moved, taking more care than she'd expected to keep quiet. He pressed his face to the crack between the doors and squinted into the thinner darkness of the warehouse beyond. She watched his head slant from side to side as he surveyed the area. After a few more seconds he leaned back toward her.  "Nothing," he said loudly enough to make her wince. "No vamps, no bodies. Nothing. No. Swarm." He looked irritatingly smug as his raised voice failed to bring on sudden, flesh-tearing death. Robyn stared for a long moment, straining her ears for the slightest sound. Galling as it was, she had to admit he might be right. There was nothing. Ratty shuffled, his movements less careful now, and rummaged in the darkness. His hand, or possibly an elbow or a knee, connected with the thin metal wall of the cabinet they hid in. It rang out, a deep, metallic rumble, dropping in pitch and volume as the vibrations ebbed.  Robyn froze, her mind desperately wishing the noise away, her breath held tight. Ratty's dark silhouette was a statue. His machismo overridden by the ingrained habits they'd both learned were so necessary to survive.  Rule One: You can't make a sound. The noise died slowly. Too slowly. Robyn couldn't tell if she was still hearing it or imagining the sound continuing forever, radiating out to declare their location. Seconds passed. Neither of them moved. The silence returned, heavy and thick. Robyn breathed, the air rushing gratefully from its cage in her chest. Ratty broke into a breathy laugh, reaching back and pulling his bag across his lap.  "Your face!" he exclaimed as he pushed it against her hands. "I swear you'll die of heart attack long before a vamp ever-" A scream pierced the darkness, cutting Ratty short and plunging ice into Robyn's veins. It wasn't a sound of anguish or fear. It was hunger. Plain, bare, unyielding. It cut through the air, raising the hairs on her arms and neck. It's primal demand reached down deep inside her and flicked a switch. Her mind filled with images, dredged up from countless generations of reacting to the sound of the hunter.  She saw the whites of Ratty's eyes, bright and wide for half a second before instinct overrode her panic. Fight or flight wasn't a choice anymore. There was only flight. Only ever flight.  Rule Two: You can't fight. Robyn was up, breaking the cabinet doors open even before her feet fully met the ground. The shadows of the warehouse loomed, each one filled with terror by her imagination. She didn't look back to see if Ratty followed. He knew the rules. As well as any of them. If she looked back now it could doom them both. Distractions were a luxury and their price was death. The hard floor echoed with sharp slaps as she began to run. Another scream chased her, its cry of starvation as urgent and dark as the first. Others joined it. A cacophony of shrill, screeching voices snapping at her rising heels. She thought she could make out the rumble of stampeding feet on the ground. There were so many. Too many. A swarm. Robyn fought the urge to glance over her shoulder and confirm her suspicion. Even for a second. Even for half that time. Rule Three: You can't look back. Pale, red light filtered through the high, crusted holes that used to be windows. Their broken shards of glass, encased in decades of filth, cast jagged shadows, tinged with brown like old, dried blood. Robyn tried to ignore them as they rose up like leering teeth to bite and tear at her. She ran on, chest already burning. Her breath came short and sharp. Throat dry, ears filled with bellowed screams and screeches. They echoed around her, closing in as if fighting to overtake her. To surround her and drag her down into blackness.  She skidded over broken concrete, kicking up dust as she forced her body to turn. The momentum of her head-long dash dragged her off balance, careening into a wall which shook with the impact. More dust rained down, coating her face, her hair, her shoulders. Robyn coughed, pushing away without breaking stride.  A thump followed; Ratty also failing to plan his flight, she guessed. She put her head down, erasing him from her mind. Everything was about speed. Momentum. Always move on. Always go forward. The advantage of a head start wouldn't last long and she knew it. The corridor ahead was littered with debris. Broken doors hung from the entrances to darkened rooms. Pieces of ceiling had caved in, dumping spars of metal, plaster and broken boards in her path. They piled up, forcing her to jump, slide, shove her way through. She had to keep going. They were gaining. Closer with every step. Faster than she could ever be. Rule Four: You can't slow down. Another corner loomed. Robyn took it at full speed, craning her body left to keep her feet moving as she turned. More junk filled her path. Some kind of table, bent down at one end and covered detritus blocked her way. She vaulted it, landing awkwardly on one ankle. Robyn bit into her lip to keep from shouting. The pain in her leg rose like a flame but she pushed on, doing her best to keep the rhythm over uneven ground. More piles, more shadows. Dust filled the air, threatening to choke her if she let it.  Ahead she could see the junction they'd taken on the way in. Such a short time ago now but it felt like hours. Days. Beyond it, to the left was the last hallway. At its end she knew there would be doors. A pair of them, badly barricaded who knew how long ago. Forced open by Ratty's boot and now achingly close. She reached the last turn, slowing slightly to negotiate it without issues. Her eyes lifted, catching the rays of muted red light as they streamed through the opening. So close now. One-hundred yards. Ninety. She forced her breath to steady, sucking through her nose. Exhaling through her mouth. Eighty yards. Seventy. They were nearly out. Beyond those doors lay a maze of alleys, dead ends and derelict, burnt-out buildings. A warren of places to get lost. To hide until the swarm passed or found other prey. Sixty yards. Fifty. Fourty. So close. So very, very close. Robyn heard a grunt. Something heavy-sounding thumped to the floor behind her and Ratty cried out. She hesitated, her mind fighting the lessons she'd learned. She slowed, turned, her feet refusing to follow. Ratty was sprawled across the floor, one leg twisted. Blood covered his face, poured from a gash above his left eye. He squinted up at her, pure terror filling his face. "Robyn..."  Her heart pounded in her chest. Guilt swelled, rose, threatened to force a mistake. To take her life as well as his. His hand reached out, the strap of his satchel looped over its wrist. Robyn felt her arm moving, pulled by the desperation in his one open, pleading eye. Blood dripped from his chin. Fell with glacial slowness as the time in her world seemed to all but stop. Hit the ground in deathly silence, a puff of dust rising before the thick droplet broke, splattered.  The screams rose in volume. Cries of hunger turned triumphant at the prospect of fresh meat. Time flowed back, and with it came the rushing shadows. They flooded into the corridor. A torrent of fast-moving limbs and withered, skeletal bodies. Robyn saw the torn and tattered clothes. Rags of cloth, painted in the browns and greys of grime and neglect.  Her feet shuffled, body moving without thought as the tide rushed on. Her fingers, still outstretched, wrapped around the strap. Ratty's eye widened, the light of hope flashing bright for a moment before reality crushed it utterly. "I'm sorry," Robyn mouthed as her hand slid back, bringing the satchel with it.  The screeching bodies ploughed on, falling across debris strewn floor. Others tumbled, clambered, rushed over them, driven by a single, unshakable need to reach they prey. Robyn stepped back, eyes still locked on Ratty's face. His hand stayed in place, beseeching her, begging her. His lips quivered. Her right foot caught on something, tipping her balance and sending her over another pile. She rolled with the fall, scrabbling to bring her feet beneath her, to find purchase. To run again.  One step. Another. She forced her legs to work. Ignored the acid bite in her thighs and built her rhythm. The wave of sound crashing over her took on a new, disgustingly excited tone. She redoubled her effort, the weight of the bag swinging against her side as she fought to the end of the corridor. To the doors. To her chance to live for another minute. Another hour. Another day. Ratty screamed. And kept screaming. It was the sound of realised terror. Of every nightmare coming true. Of pain she desperately tried not to imagine. It was a horrible sound but not as bad as the noises beneath it. The wet, ripping, crunching symphony of a living body torn apart by insatiable hunger.  Her steps faltered. Could she have saved him? Should she have? Robyn kept her eyes forward, focused on the door as Ratty's voice faded to be buried beneath the grisly sounds of his end and furious, frantic thrashing of too many mouths fighting over too little meat. Robyn clutched the satchel, feeling for the first time how little its contents weighed. It wasn't much. Enough to sacrifice a life over? She half turned then forced herself back on course. There was nothing she could do now. Ratty was gone. In minutes his body would be stripped of flesh. His still-hot blood licked from the grime of the floor. The predators fighting for every last morsel would find nothing left to quarrel over and their eyes would turn toward the next meal. Toward her. Robyn forced her feet to move, ignoring the stabs of pain from her ankle. She reached the doors, pushing at their half-closed bulk with her free hand and stopped. She looked back. Back into the darkness. Into the squirming pile of writhing bodies. Beneath it, still outstretched as if in one last plea, she saw Ratty's hand. Dark shapes swarmed over it, eclipsing her view. She heard the crunch of small bones and her stomach heaved. She could have saved him. A voice echoed inside her head. Another voice she'd never hear again, reminding her of lessons she'd been taught. Of lessons that kept her alive. Rule Five: You can't save anyone but yourself.