M A R L A M I L L E R
"Hurry, I hunt."
And just like that the safety was torn from her grip. "What the f-?!" Marla screamed in indignation as she whipped her head up to look at the offender, another brunette female who was attempting to do what she had failed to. She had half a mind to start a scene about the loss of her firearm and was just opening her mouth to scream again when she remembered that there was another, more important scene unfolding.
With the soldier's weight still reassuringly on top of her, Marla let the anger deflate from her as she lowered her head again, though kept her eyes on the theif now taking aim. The shots fired from the rogue marine's gun were so loud and so plentiful in their holding room that Marl wouldn't have been able to tell the woman had fired her own had it not been for her body's reaction to the pistol's slight recoil. Suddenly the sharp pangs of gunfire ceased, if only momentarily.
Did she get him?
"Did you get him?"
Her voice was croaky from screaming and small from the fear that still lived at the base of her throat. Breathing heavily, Marla chanced a peek at the door above the guard's helmet, which was shielding her own head, just in time for another stream of shots being let loose. A shriek escaped her as she ducked back down, arms wrapped above her head as she poured a string of cuss words out onto the cold tiled floor pressing against her cheek.
Once again the firing had ended, but she waited a minute or two before lifting her head in case there was yet another shooter to be dealt with. When she finally decided to straighten up enough so that she was leaning on her forearms, her stomach heaved up and almost into her throat. Her mouth flew open as it involuntarily gagged. She wished she'd just stayed down. She wished the soldiers hadn't interrupted her in that room with her sister.
The room was a square on the losing side of a battlefield. White had been turned pink and the joy that had been in the air only moments ago was replaced with horrific cries of loss and whimpers of pain.
It was lucky that Marla hadn't eaten in a few hours. Heaving again, she shoved the soldier's still unconscious body off of her, sitting herself up so that she could press her back into the wall. Maybe if she pressed hard enough, she could disappear through it. Her knees were tucked into her chest and her hands were both covering her still open mouth, eyes wide as she looked around at the grotesque Jackson Pollock on everyone's jumpsuits.
Her attention was pulled away from the gore by the woman who had taken her pistol. Funny enough, the lady was holding the very thing out to her, apologizing for grabbing it. Completely taken by surprise, it took Marla a few seconds to react. "Oh, er..." She furrowed her brow at the thing, and then up at the woman, but before she could say anything, the gun was placed back into her hands. "Er, it's alright..." she murmured to her back as she began to walk away, "Thanks..." Clutching the sidearm to her chest now, Marla's watched as the heroine of the group moved over to the two men at the entrance.
There was the hero who had shot down the first soldier with the grenades. Apparently, his hero complex hadn't been exhausted yet. He was laying underneath the guy she assumed was their second assaulter, completely covered in whatever had come out because of the rifle.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! He's infected, everyone get away from him!"
And even as her partner screamed this, the brunette from earlier who had taken the knife off of her human shield ran to the infected who had just been pushed aside and stripped him of his armor and supplies. The armor and supplies that were now contaminated with infected blood. Seriously...? Marla's eyebrow finally cocked. The chick was crazy. Definite mental note to steer clear. But apparently she wasn't the only crazy in the crowd, as plenty of other people - including the female shooter - went to loot his body.
Shaking her head in disagreement, Marla began to push herself up from the ground, still cradling her gun against her chest. It wasn't until she was fully upright that she realized how badly she was shaking. She kept against the wall for support, wary eyes still watching those at the very front of the room. The survivors who were able were now up and about, trying to figure out how to proceed with everything. And then another voice added to the pot:
"Ask him a maths question, the infected can't logic for shit."
"Shit, uh... For--fortynine! See?! I'm not infected!"
"Well... I replayed the last message sent on the soldiers headset, and someone told all the infected that the survivors needed help, and that we were in survivor processing. If we don't get out of here now, we're all gonna die."
Absolutely nonplussed by the commotion, she turned her attention up to the catwalk above them, trying to see who had suggested the math test, but saw no one but the first dead soldier. Shivering at the weirdness of a disappearing but helpful presence, she returned her attention to the current situation. People were still looting, while others were helping push open the heavy metal door. She surveyed her immediate area, and was about to start over to where the two grenades were left untouched when something stopped her.
Not four feet to the left of where her legs had been when she was prone, a little girl lay underneath a rather large male still bleeding from a bullet wound to the head. She was wriggling about, but it was no use; the man was too big and she was trapped. As if on cue, an image of Abby around that age presented itself in the back of Marla's mind, and as if unaware what she was doing, her feet floated the rest of her body over to the poor thing. Crouching down, Marl tucked the sidearm into her right black combat boot. She made eye contact with the girl for a moment, offered her a short but warm smile of comfort, before she began to push the guy off. It took a few minutes, as he was much heavier than she thought and physical strength really wasn't Marla's thing. But a few kicks and plenty of grunting later, the male lay dead on his side and the little one was free to stand up.
"There you go," she murmured, cringing at her now bloodied hands. She wiped them off on her jumpsuit before looking back down at the girl and offering her a hand up. "Are you hurt?"
Concept