Operation Ada: Part I (4 of 8)

Ada titled her flower blossom head back on her slender neck and the sight made her gasp in fear. A gangly putrid shell of what once might have passed as a human being teetered with shambling movement toward her. It seemed less to see her and more was simply aware of her. Aware of her supple pink flesh. Aware of her pulsing vibrancy. Aware of her scent. And it wanted her. It wanted her essence. Not because of anything it said. The things hardly seemed able to speak beyond guttural raspy spittle and choking sounds. But it was in the twitchy yearning movements in the cracked bones, and slabs of barely connected rotting flesh. They wanted life back.

From behind her oversized chic sunglasses her eyes flitted to the pistol that had skittered away when her graceful actions had met with the impracticality of her high heels. It lay tempting her at the decaying feet of the undead creature that loomed over her with swaying naueasing motion. Her need for the weapon to feel safe made her lean forward, with the intent of snatching it up and sending the vile wretch to join its bullet ridden friend lying next to her. But no sooner had she made her move did the action cause the sprain in her ankle to flare up anew with enough fiery anguish to make white spots dance before her eyes.

"Ahhhhhhnnnnggggnnnn!" Ada moaned, her hands wrapping around the tender spot. It was an agony to touch but her fingers yearned to soothe the pain. She tried to take solace in the comforting silk texture of her pantyhose, an absentminded idle gesture any girl was familiar with. But her short, form fitting, red satin cocktail dress, and the luxuriously head turning silk smoke pantyhose that adorned her slender legs had changed. In this desolate place, surrounded by these forlorn undead creatures, huddled on the floor whimpering from her injury, her impractical outfit left her feeling suddenly very alone, exposed, and vulnerable. She became distantly aware of a childlike wish to have a warm blanket to wrap around her bare shoulders and snuggle her with comfort and security.

And without the cold reassurance of a gun in her well manicured and feminine hand, Ada Wong felt something that she was wholly unfamiliar with. That hammering in her chest as she stared glossy lips agape at the slathering thing lumbering over her? Ada Wong felt helpless...