"There is forty percent chance that a terrorist attack would occur during this trip.." Chris was awake, she had been awake since five, yet she was still wrapped tightly within the hotel's given comforter. Her hands were wrapped tightly around a small, blue-covered notebook, and her brown eyes scanned their tattered and inked pages with haste. The pages themselves were covered with an assortment of information, percentages, lessons, anything that could be squished in between the blue lines was presented with messy completion within this book. And Chris was scanning this fountain of wisdom as if it were her only priority. "A fifty percent chance of a random shooting, fifty-five of witnessing a robbery. Below forty of witnessing a murder." She opened her mouth slowly, letting out a hallow laugh, "now, what's the percent chance of seeing a corpse come back to life?" Bang, bang. Scream. Chris jumped back as something crashed against her suite door, squeaking with fear as the knob began to shake and jingle as if someone was attempting to get in, but the door itself didn't budge anymore. The shaking faded, more screams. A man, and man was being killed now. The yelling faded too eventually, and then it was quiet again. Chris slowly stood up, allowing the blankets to pile around her ankles as she snapped the notebook shut and turned to her duffle bag which had been placed just beside her elegant-looking nightstand, slipping the book into one of the side compartments. And then door shuddered again. Someone trying to get in again? Chris stared at it with growing concern, straining her ears as she hoped to hear if someone was trying to break in again, but could only pinpoint harsh breathing. The breathing continued, but the door knob didn't jiggle, perhaps they were dying? Chris let out a shuddered breath and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on hearing, but quickly fell back as the screams began. Loud and high. A female. There was also the sound of ripping, tearing... Squishing? Chris lifted her hands up to her ears and backed up until her back hit the (in Chris' opinion) tacky wall-papered wall, eyes connected with the base of the door. Something was slipping under the crack, a hand? A shadow? No, it was red, and reeked of metal. Blood. The screaming was cut short. The woman was dead, and now a pool of blood was seeping into Chris' room, staining the blue carpet, slowly approaching, slowly, but it could barely pass the bathroom door. Chris whimpered, sliding down until her head hit her knees, and she shook. Afraid, this emotion was fear, she knew that. She had barely experienced fear in her lifetime, but now it was all to familiar of an emotion. The sweat-breaking, breath-stopping feeling that made Chris shake like a child had claimed her mind. --- The morning had started off well enough, Chris remembered waking up just as the sun was rising, covered with the comfort and warmth of the hotel's blankets. There was no strange noises or smells, just a weird hum from outside her window that she had trouble recognizing, but i was quickly forgotten when she got up and showered, preparing for this day's activities. The field trip, while her family was against letting her go because of her lack of friends, had been enjoyable for the most part. She went to the museum with her school (but spent most of it writing in her notebook), ate lunch alone but in peace in the park, and enjoyed herself while reading and playing around in her nice hotel room. Today held great new adventures to be had, that was for sure, and there was a slightly hope of possibly gaining at least one friend. That was, until she heard the screaming. Chris dried herself and changed quickly and glanced out into the hall, and then it all started. She discovered a body by her door, one of the hotel staff, a man. He was holding onto a mop tightly, which was also splattered with blood, and his eyes were wide and staring but Chris knew that he couldn't see. Still, she opened the door a little more, and shook the body, quickly becoming more frantic as she realized that the hall around her was similarly red to the staff at her foot, [i]"Wake up, wake up! What's happened?[/i] Chris vaguely remembered saying this, but that memory had been tarnished quickly once the body started moving again. At first, she had felt relieved, glad that the man was alive, but then she realized that he still wasn't looking at her. And that half of his neck was missing. He was dead, dead as any dead man could be, yet he was moving. Impossible. Impossible. He reached for her, mouth opening, eyes gleaming red, and Chris pulled back and stumbled. The man was still reaching out, but his head was teetering precariously on it's half-neck. Chris was probably crying, but she couldn't exactly remember, instead her memory all focused in on her sudden brutality; she had slammed the door on the man's head countless times until he finally fell back and ceased moving. Then, covered in specks of blood and tears and sweat, she clambered back into bed and began research, hoping to calm down her beating heart. It had taken six hours. --- But now, it was beating hard again. Chris knew she was going to die her, it was a fact. She would be gutted or torn apart by whatever killed that man, it was a fact. A fact. Fact... Or... was it? Chris slowly rose her head, staring hard at the room around her. There was a mini fridge, a bathroom, a bed, a dresser, TV, night stand, and behind her head, a window. Jumping would be suicide, since she was on the fifth floor, but there were plenty of objects around her to begin crafting a weapon of sorts. With sudden inspiration the small girl stood and smiled a cold, unusual smile, "Facts aren't facts until proven, isn't that true?" She said to herself, reaching out to grab her duffle bag. She could fight back, she could try and get to the lobby, and she could escape. Those could also be facts, Chris only had to prove them. Her hands moved on their own, going from shuffling through the bag to the mini fridge, where she began breaking many of the larger glass bottles against the wall. Alcohol stained the wallpaper and carpet and her hands, but Chris was too focused to care. After choosing the largest, best broken bottle, she then turned to the window. The billowing drapes were held on by a golden bare, which seemed to be attached to the wall with small, plastic anchors. They were easily to dig out with only a pencil or her finger nails, and the brackets at the ends of the curtain rod clattered to the ground as soon as they were free. She quickly pulled the bar out of the brackets and examined it's length and weight, then turned back to the large, broken bottle she had placed on the bed. Chris quickly fitted the bottle and rod together, then with a combination of shredded hotel sheets she had tore with scissors and some clear tape that had been found at the bottom of her bag she tied the two items together until they were secure. It was a makeshift spear, and while it seemed rather flimsy it would at least be good at keeping attackers far away. "I'm not gonna die," Chris began talking to herself again as she slipped her duffle bag over her shoulder and clenched onto her weapon tightly, "I'm not gonna die, and that's a fact!" And with those final words of courage she broke into a run, splashing into the pool of blood without a second thought, and easily opened the door. The man in front of her door was still there, but it seemed to be fully dead now, and now next to it was another corpse. A woman. She was already moving again, eyes blank and gleaming red, and as soon as the door open her body fell back and landed at Chris' feet, who gasped and rose her weapon. The corpse seemed rather confused, unable to stand properly, and Chris quickly noticed that the woman's stomach had been torn open, but as soon as she did the woman turned over quickly and began crawling, jaws chomping. It showed no evidence of feeling pain from the wound, oddly enough. Chris quickly stumbled back away from the attack and allowed her weapon to drop down into the woman's back, wincing as she felt the sharp edged of the bottle dig deeply into the ashen flesh. She then quickly retracted the weapon and glanced down at the body, expecting it to be un-moving once more, but no, it was still chomping and crawling. The wound in it's back had done nothing to slow it's blood thirst. [i]'Interesting'[/i] Her mind whispered, but Chris quickly ignored the thought and instead jumped forward, landing just behind the crawler. Not waiting to see if the zombie had turned she broke out into a run, exiting her room and entering the darkened hall. The smell was overbearing, and her eyes had yet to grow accustomed to the darkness, so she ran blindly to where the stairs and elevator had been located, crying out as a voice suddenly appeared over head. [b]*Gasp* Please, everyone stay calm. There has been a breach of secure- *Gasp* security. Everyone...remain cal-[/b] "Dammit!" Chris whispered, glancing around blindly. There were bodies everywhere, most still dead, but some slowly began standing. If the fifth floor was this bad already, the lower floors would be even worse. She continued running, ignoring the groans and screams behind her, until she saw a somewhat-familiar back standing over a newly re-killed, headless zombie. He was twirling a baseball bat, and seemed to be deep in thought,. His name failed her for the time being, and she wasn't entirely sure if this kid was alive or dead in the half-light, but did it matter right now? Would she survive with other people better than by herself? ... Actually, in the wild, packs were more likely to survive than lone wolves. "Hey!" Chris cried out, standing at least five feet away from Devon, holding her weapon out defensively, "F-Friend or foe?" The groans from behind were getting closer, and Chris tried to still her shaking arms. Hurry and answer... "Friend or foe!?" She repeated, brown eyes narrowing into slits.