Operation Ada: Part II (10 of 16)

Defend. It's defend. The right decision is to defend. When facing such an abomination up close. When you can smell it. When you can feel its soggy rotting wetness clamoring over your body. When you are that close to the mind melting reality of the undead, the only thing you can think of is: escape. So for Ada, naturally, the decision was simple. Her mind could not even consider the possibility of halting escape. It was not up for debate. But the need for the weapon, the need for protection, the need to annihilate her attacker was real. This too was primal. And so she relented her defense. She removed her hand that was holding back the struggling creature's decaying head. The head with those milky sightless eyes, and the clacking of those gnashing yellowed teeth. It would only take a second. She just needed to reach that 9mm Matilda. Then it would be: Bang! Bang! Now you're dead!

It was a calculated risk, under pressure, a decision simply had to be made. Those little arms couldn't hold out forever. And there were two of those vile creatures trying to get her. The clock was ticking, the stamina was running out. And fear was making it difficult to think clearly. Honestly, can you really blame her? Put yourself in her shoes (okay, so she doesn't have shoes, so we will have to go with her trusty pair of pantyhose, you know, the kind with the reinforced toes?) Can you honestly say you would have done anything differently?

Ada pulled her hand back from the undead monster's head and immediately twisted her body to reach for the fallen gun. Her hand slapped against the floor, red manicured fingernails scratching at the wooden floorboards for the cool confidence booster of that chilly gun metal. Her mind got a memo that this was taking longer than it should, and that led to the pump of a chemical in her brain that created a feeling of disappointment, confusion, frustration, and finally, that all too overproduced feeling in situations like this: FEAR.

In truth, all of that transpired in the span of a breath. The single intake of a breath, the kind you take when you are preparing for the scream of your life. The kind of breath you take when your frustrated scrambling fingers are fearfully searching for that gun, and they just can't seem to get there in time. And in the gradients of that second, there is the realization that it has been too long. You aren't reaching the gun, you can't reach the gun, and it's been too long. You intake that breath, because you know what comes next.

Ada screamed, and she screamed loudly as she felt her lithe body yanked and pulled around the floor like a doll. Two pairs of rotting arms grabbed her and overpowered her thrashing body. She swung her bare arms. They were grabbed and pinned. She kicked her stocking bearing legs. They were grabbed by putrid hands in midair.

Ada gasped as she was pressed to the floor. Her chic sunglasses were knocked askew on her face in the struggle. Out of the corners of her wide fearful eyes, she saw the two undead creatures lowering their feral gnashing teeth toward her futilely squirming body.