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realmackross · 1 year ago

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PARTIES: @arustysnake, @realmackross TIMING: Around 12 AM, September 10th. SUMMARY: Oliver decides to go for a late night grocery run. Unfortunately for him, the only other customer currently shopping is a very, very hungry Mackenzie. WARNINGS: Unsanitary tw, gore tw, vomit mention tw (nothing actually happens, but there is a mention of it), murder mention tw (rip kim k.) PREVIOUS THREADS: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Current.

Soft jazz rang out over the speakers as the doors slid open to an empty grocery store aside from a stoner kid who definitely didn’t want to be working. The fluorescent lights made everything brighter than it needed to be and almost hurt the shambling zombie's eyes as she entered the building with little effort. There had been no set goal on Mackenzie’s journey of wreaking havoc and consuming whatever was in her path. She just needed to feed and that was it.

Making her way down the aisles aimlessly bumping into things and knocking them off the shelves had caused a mess, but the kid up front had been lost in his own world listening to heavy metal not paying a bit of attention. The one thing that seemed to piss Mackenize off though was a cardboard cutout of Kim Kardashian that seemed to have gotten in her way. Growling with frustration, the zombie leaned forward and bit into the face of the smiling figure only to spit out the paper person in disgust with no sustenance to be found. And instead of waiting for Kim to fight back, she pushed the cutout down and walked over her, resuming her journey through the store.

—

How. How. Had he run out of… so much. Ollie had tried to write an actual list - his phone hadn’t charged, of course; the outlets were just that unpredictable, such a fun guessing game - before heading out, bleary-eyed. It was way too late for anyone to be walking around, nevermind along Worm Row. Even the locals didn’t wander at this hour. But he was, for some reason, too hungry to care. That’s what he’d been, the last few days. Hungry. He hadn’t quite placed it, at first, somehow; hard to, maybe, among all the other pinches and pangs he’d caught sleeping on a beat up mattress, on the floor, when he wasn’t tearing apart that old house from timbers to tiles. But tonight, sleepless and losing the argument with himself as to how tired he was, how he really ought to just be able to pass out and rest, please, he’d attempted to midnight snack himself to sleep. And found the fridge… weirdly bare.

So. Fine. Problem-solving. That’s what he was doing, standing, in an absolute daze, in the tiny dairy etc. aisle, wondering why there were no more eggs. Scuffing a hand over his 2AM shadow, Ollie - found the eggs. In his basket. The last three dozen in the store. Apparently. God. Shambling on to… whatever was next, he rocked to a stop. There was a, some sort of - noise? Not the elevator-grade ambience fizzing on the speakers. Like…

Cardboard, tearing? An art room noise. And growling? Not, typically, an art room noise. The cardboard that slapped to the floor several aisle-ends ahead. The growling - followed. Dredging up, it seemed, out of the chest of a woman who could, genuinely, horribly, be called cadaverous. White-knuckled, staring, Ollie froze. In the freezer section. He just - he couldn’t move. Something, low down in the back of his ringing skull, seemed very, very sure that was the best thing to do; Ollie couldn’t have explained the case it made, exactly, but. It was compelling, all the same.

—

The smell of fresh meat had caught Mackenzie’s dull senses and made her mouth water. Stumbling around aisle after aisle, inching closer and closer to what was going to be a tasty snack, she had her sights set on one thing. The meat department. The open cooler full of freshly cut steaks, chicken, and pork looked like a dream come true to an endlessly hungry zombie, and it was easy prey. The hardest part would be getting the tender morsels out of the plastic wrap, which she quickly found to be a challenge.

One by one, she picked up the containers of meat and bit into them, only to be stopped by endless after endless plastic wrap. With each package of meat she couldn’t open up, Mack’s frustration grew, and the harder she threw down the steaks, chicken, and pork onto the floor. The meat was piling up, but finally with enough anger and the one cell that seemed to be functioning in her brain, she managed to open up a package.

Pulling the large roast out of the plastic wrap and off the foam tray, Mackenzie bit into the meat and started gnawing on it. It was juicy, but not as tender as she had anticipated. Still it tasted like satisfaction, and she longed for more. With one successful snack obtained, she managed to pull off the next piece of plastic shrink-wrapped around a $22 t-bone steak. Her absolute favorite. And without any hesitation, began chewing on the red meat until she was cleaning the bone.

—

The, well, meaty smack of tray after slightly gnawed tray hitting the tiles was only getting louder. And with it, some of the downright animal terror that’d wired Ollie in place started to snap, a strand at a time. His hand flickered to his back pocket, which was - empty. Shit. Because, right, his phone might be charging, blocks away. Couldn’t get an ambulance. Which… that’s what he should do, right? There had to be something wrong.

So wrong. The plasticky squeak-rip of the wrapper peeling off a blood-swollen hunk of beef ran down his spine. Not like nails on a chalkboard; like nails, on skin. Those nails Willa had left thrown around in the cellar, rust-crusted, scraping before they gashed. He’d managed to slither a half-step back, soundlessly. Still staring, wide-eyed. Now, now she was just - eating it. Obviously. What else would she have been trying to do, besides tear into a raw, seeping, cooler-cold roast? Just. With her teeth. Obviously.

(He should move. Quick as that petrified, sensible skitter crawling up and down his spine. But she was just - she wasn’t well, to say the fucking least. And besides that checked-out clerk, there was nobody else around to do anything. And, and if everything Willa’d told him was true, which it wasn’t, and being something wrong got his mom murdered, which it hadn’t, then…)

“Can I help you?” He rasped, words forming faster, at this god awful hour, than the better judgment that would’ve definitely stopped them cold. “Is there anything you could… use a hand with?” Ollie tried again, wincing as those teeth tore at a waxy clump of gristle and crunched it down. “Anybody we could call?” At the desk. Which seemed so, so far away; he craned his neck a little, risking a quick glance towards the till, way down the aisles.

—

Mackenzie continued to rip and gnaw. Chew and snack. Blood ran down her chin from the deep bites she was consistently taking from package after package of meat, now that she was able to actually open them up. That also meant that the meat on the floor would be next. It was a smorgasbord of delicious cuts. Organic meat. Cheap meat. Even vegan meat - that she didn’t like too well, and upon first bite, flung it halfway across the store. She had sausages, roasts, and steaks. Pigs feet, tripe, liver. You named it, and she ate it as quickly as she could get her hands on it. Yes, Mackenzie was in pure meaty bliss, until…

The quivering voice drew her attention away from her feast. And looking up at him slowly, mid-bite and still chewing, her glazed eyes grew wide and a breathy, demented gasping noise left her mouth; a current bite of meat dropping to the floor with a string of drool to follow. The already cut and prepackaged meal was tasty, but there was nothing like a fresh and very alive human.

Dropping what was currently in her grimey little hands, Mack slowly started moving forward with arms outstretched - cute dead grabby hands coming his way. Her eyes, though hollow and a milky white color, looked like an adorable and curious baby animal longing to explore what was right in front of it. But the bared teeth and growling said otherwise.

—

He absolutely could not help them at all.

Ollie knew that, now, should’ve known, but. If he was lucky, he’d be out of here and behind every deadbolt on the O’Rourke door very, very soon, and then, only then, he could tear himself all the new ones his currently jackhammering heart desired. So long as whatever the hell all this was didn’t tear him a few first.

Those eyes. He’d seen eyes like those before - on the rotting corpse of a deer he’d slipped and stumbled through on Lyssa’s Peak, years and years ago. Gauzy, bleak marble-eyes, staring out of a withering head, over black lips curled to bare baby-white teeth. It was hardly more than a fawn, its moldering fur still spotted under squirming clusters of hungry worms; he’d been hardly more than ten, skinned from the wild, gravelly fall. And heaving, nearly elbow-deep in its stinking, empty-sackish gut, where his hand had burst through as he finally skidded to a stop at the bottom of the hill. His fingers had torn away slimy, the juices of the thing gone thick and dark. Ollie hadn’t made a sound, then. Not until he scrambled back to the top of the fucking hill, and threw up - again, somehow - so hard he couldn’t help crying. And crying, God, red-hot with the mortification of it all. He didn’t say a word when he got home. Couldn’t. Never have been allowed outside again, probably ever.

None of that was the fawn’s fault. Obviously. Maybe it wasn’t hers, either. But Ollie was dead-silent, again, - dead, she looked fucking dead - besides the smash of those cartons of eggs and everything else he had in his basket shattering across the floor as he dropped it all, lurched backwards, and ran.

—

Mackenzie had her sights now set on one thing and that was the man that had currently turned and ran from her. What was it with people and running from her? If she could express herself in any way, she’d probably have let out a heavy sigh of frustration - comical at best, as if to say, here we go again. Why did she always have to work for her meals? The best thing she had come across had been the deer carcass on the road, before she had faced a man who was determined to saw her head off with a dull blade. It was just getting ridiculous at this point, but nevertheless, the power of the Flats drove her forward with a determination like no other. She just lacked the speed and coordination sometimes.

Much like an episode of Scooby Doo, Mackenzie made it a point to weave in and out of every aisle with her dirty, blood and glitter covered hands trying to grab anything that she could eat, mostly the only man in the store running from her; all while the kid at the front still had no clue that his store was being trashed to a heavy metal soundtrack that only played through his earbuds. Instead, they got the soft, but inspired jazz solo that rang out through the entirety of the store while boxes and jars crashed and broke with each wobbly bump into the shelves that the hungry zombie had made.

Finally, as if Lady Luck was on her cold, dead side, Mackenzie caught up to her prey and with a tight forceful grip, yanked him back and laid her blood stained veneers into his shoulder as hard as she could. Growling and yanking back, she tugged until his shirt ripped and she had managed to pull out a chunk of fresh flesh from his body. The warm and tender meat had tasted so much better than the store bought cuts laying in a messy, bloody pile on the floor in the back of the store, and she knew she had to have more. She wasn’t going to let him get away this time!

—

How loud was whatever the hell that kid at the front was listening to? He’d yelled, hadn’t he? Shouted - something? Couldn’t say. Ollie’s world had closed into the glare of the fluorescents, the scatter of swept shelves, his own bolting sprint, and the wet-mouthed snarl rattling down the nape of his neck, it seemed. It was. A freakishly strong hand smashed the air out of his lungs, slamming against the back of his ribs and tearing at a fistful of his flannel. His sneakers skidded, his arms flailed, he caught hold of a shelf. A hold he lost to the hard, hungry grip of whatever that lady was.

(Sick. Strung out. Something.)

And then - then he was in those teeth, shearing at wiry muscle and grating along bone and he was silent, still, fighting to get that lost breath back. Fighting with a rip and roll that left her with a mouthful, a mouth, full, of his shoulder, and a bundle of camping aisle firewood in his clenched-tight fingers, the zap strap digging in deep. Until it snapped. Because he’d hit her with it, blindly, wildly. Just slung the stack back and around as hard as he could, stomach churning, the smell of his own blood and the whole goddamn meat department and who knew what else she’d been eating roiling down the back of his throat. Fingers sticky - bloody? Bloody - on that barely-held-together firewood, Ollie staggered down the aisle, panting, staring. He’d hit her.

Hard enough?

She’d been eating him.

—

Mackenzie wanted more. She needed more. Oh how she needed more of his sweet, sweet flesh. But when she went in for a second nibble she felt something hard smack her upside the head. Hard enough that she’d faltered. Hard enough to send her backwards and to the ground as splintered wood stuck out of her face leaving her wounded and panting loudly. But just like before, when the man with the knife had knocked her to the ground, she rolled around clumsily trying to find her footing. This time slipping on the blood that had dripped to the floor from her meal that was now fleeing away from her yet again. But she couldn’t find a way up, and instead, her one brain cell told her to crawl.

Pulling forward through the muck on the floor; scattered firewood, glass, and random bits of flesh and other bits and bobbles, Mackenzie used her arms to guide her towards the front. She hadn’t seen where her wounded walking nuggie had gone, but it didn’t matter. The moment was ruined. The meat in the back hadn’t even satisfied her craving anymore. No, she wanted fresh meat. And not some scrawny kid that looked like a twig with arms and a head.

—

She was still going. Even with a face full of splinters and bones that weren’t put together quite so neatly as they used to be. The tattered plastic just-holding that firewood together tore completely apart as Ollie turned away from the horrible sight of her, reaching, dragging. He stumbled around the scattered pine, but didn’t stop. Not for anything, Jesus. Until he was passing the cash register, swerving across the counter to sweep a bloody, shuddering hand right in the way of that neckbearded clerk.

Who didn’t so much as take his goddamn airpods out as he blinked, slowly. And stepped back, holding the broom he’d been air-guitaring across. Hadn’t noticed a thing. Couldn’t. At this hour. In Worm Row. In Wicked’s Rest. Like there was nothing, at all, to be scared of.

Ollie, wide-eyed, head light and hollow besides the roiling, animal panic bursting away like a crate of Roman candles, simply stared back for a moment. And shook, and dripped blood on the countertop ,and the floor, his shirt reefed apart, his shoulder gnawed open. “Dude,” the twentysomething scowled. At the mess, spattered all over the candy bars and gum, the fliers. Ollie might’ve had something - a lot of something, a hell of a lot - to say, like sorry, or run, or what the fuck!, or help, if he weren’t desperately trying not to puke, grey-faced. And if he hadn’t heard another of those growls. The clerk’s head had swiveled with his, at least; Ollie didn’t stick around to see what the guy made of whatever the hell he’d been missing. The door, streaked with red, screeched open as he tore through, and slammed shut, far behind him. Not far enough, though. Not yet.

—

Mackenzie slowly pulled herself towards the front, but it was a much longer trek than just shambling along. The blood trail had led her back to the entrance of the store where the confused and wide-eyed kid stood dumbfounded; his eyes shifting to her as she made her way along. Not paying any attention to him, she finally found her footing again and shambled out into the cool night air. Eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness after the bright fluorescents had taken over her hazy view, the zombie felt her stomach rumble at the longing for another hardy meal.

Mackenzie held her head up and looked towards the sky, not really looking at anything in particular, but soaking in the warmth of the hold of the Flats that already felt like it was slipping by the pain from the pieces of firewood lodged in her face. And with a breathy hiss, she turned right and resumed her walk through the dark hoping she’d at least find something worth munching on that was more pleasurable and held still long enough for her to fully consume it. Maybe then, the pain that was oddly causing her face to throb, would dissipate and she could get back to hunting more substantial meals.

#para: bite of passage #para: oliver #arustysnake #{closer to fine; plot}#wickedswriting #unsanitary tw #gore tw #vomit mention tw

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