not so ancient.

[backdated to last night]

“Goran?” Nikki knocked hesitantly on the door to her brother's bedroom. He hadn't come out since last night, and then only briefly—he had needed water, and more aspirin for his head. The ER must have bandaged him wrong, he said; his arm was itching non-stop, he felt dizzy and nauseous. Maybe the person who'd bit him was sick or something. She knocked again. “Goran? How are you feeling? We're—you haven't been out in a while, and we're worried.”

No reply.

Nikki leaned against the doorpane and crossed her arms. She could hear Maggie flipping through an astronomy book in the other room and made her voice sharp. Half his size she may have been, but Goran knew better than to attempt to provoke his sister when she was cross. “Come on, this is ridiculous. You didn't mope around this much when you had pneumonia. Come out, let's have a look at that bite.”

( There was a groan on the other side of the door. )

When all hell had broken loose Sylvie had been in line to get a coffee on her way home from work, something she had been looking forward to all day. Suddenly things had gone from normal to crazy and the people around her were all flying off into a rage, and panic had set in before she could really think straight. Coffee had hit the air and someone had shoved her between her shoulder blades before she could react as they tried to grab the young barister over the counter. Barely able to gasp for breath, Sylvie had backed away from the maddening little crowd, all aggression and strength and speed. They were between her and the door to the outside world. They wheeled on her as a group, two had scrabbled over the counter and torn the redheaded woman down to the floor where she was writhing and squealing. Heart thumping nine to the dozen, Sylvie turned and ran for the ladies room, all but toppling in through the doorway to the accompanying sound of footsteps in pursuit. The cart with the cleaning supplies was in the ladies room and she used the mop to keep the door closed, backing away with eyes wide as the whole thing shuddered and shook in its frame, the people on the other side were trying to get in and underneath their moans she could hear the scream of the barister. Eventually it died away but the banging didn’t.

Frantic, Sylvie fumbled through her bag for her cell phone. There was battery, but no signal. Biting her lip to stop herself from crying, she turned around on the spot, searching in that fruitless way people did for a signal that wasn’t there. Frustrated she slammed one of the stall doors open with the palm of her hand and then raked her blonde hair from her face. Next plan was the window a few minutes later, it took her a while to un-jam it and even then it wouldn’t open all the way, just far enough to reach her hand out but nothing more. Sylvie spent the next hour shouting into the dark before her voice gave out and she sank to the floor, exhausted. Sleep didn’t come, but she slipped into a shocked and tired daze, make-up a mess and hair in disarray. Eventually, hours later she shoved her phone out the crack to see if she could get signal that way. One bar. Just enough if she was lucky. It took another few hours for anything to get through, she got countless unsent message errors but kept trying and finally managed to reach out to the network.

It was just as well. Things started to dissolve from there.

First the mop started to splinter. Then it broke entirely and door caved in. Sylvie screamed. Only not the kind of waifish squeal that was so often expected of her; the pitch shot up and the volume stretched well beyond the reach of normal people. Three mem shoved their way into the room, their fingers clawing through the air and she kept screaming as she backed away. The window shattered, the mirrors cracked. Their ears started to bleed and she kept screaming, it was her only defence mechanism.

[ Luther! ]