Lexicon:Desensitised
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"Watch your step, honey," said Jack, as he waded through the corpses in the mall, on our way to the gun store. "It's a muck of blood underneath, slippery."
I was walking behind him. Some of the bodies were still twitching, one even tried to grab my ankle. Looking around I saw maybe a dozen undead, tearing bodies apart with their bare hands, eating. Then a badly wounded man jumped out of nowhere, cursed them all and made a run for the doors. One of the feeders ran after him. Remarkable, how fast they are.
It was all bewildering, really; it always has been, but now it's for a different reason: it isn't the sight of all this that's shocking, but realising you feel nowt about it.
"Pass me the petrol, Jules," said Jack, and I snapped back to work. I handed him my can, he poured it all into his generator. I didn't want to look with the lights on, so I just walked into the store and started filling my backpack. He did the same. Then we walked out in silence.
The man who tried to escape was sitting on a step in the west entrance to the mall. Off the corner of my eye I saw Jack shaking his head as I approached the figure.
"He's a right trenchie, don't waste your kits," he said, and lit a fag. And I knew he was right, I could almost see this wally yelling at the horde, wasting precious ammo shooting outside. But I still felt I should help him—he was human, like. Then of course I saw that empty stare into the void, and I didn't have to look to know his belly was already a big hole.
"Once he's revived," I said, "he's going to need a monster dose of Cipro for that infection. You think I should tuck a note in his pocket with the address of our safehouse?"
"You do that and I'll shoot you myself," said Jack.
And we went back to the warehouse.
--Sophie ◆◆◆ CAPD 22:33, 30 October 2009 (UTC)
