Shrapnel rides an explosion of concussive force ahead of deafening sound: the air cracks; the ground shakes; metal shreds.
It's hard to say what Fucking Sniper thought of Bobcat remaining to fight. Confusion? Amusement? Disappointment? Plain, though, to know the last thing he felt: the bony impact of Bobcat's knuckles on his cheek (4B). A white flash. Bobcat's airborne. Hot metal carves paths through his chest, his legs, his torso (4L). Fortunately, the ground's there to break his fall (2B). His limp body lay looking up at the sky, ears ringing, bleeding too. A minute or two later . . . or five, he's back on his feet and in control of his faculties once more.
Rina makes it to the outermost edge of the blast radius, would have cleared it if the delay hadn't been tampered with. Somehow, she keeps her feet, though a metal scrap leaves a long laceration on her arm (1L).
Likewise, Richard tries escape with supernatural speed, but finds himself less successful in distancing himself. He falls forward as sharp fragments bury themselves into the meat of his back (2L).
Blake makes it back into the Veterinary Clinic, before being blown over by a gust of force (2B).
At both locations, the groups bear witness to the phenomenon known as "pink mist." Blood droplets form a cloud in the air, their individual reds whitened to pink by intervals of air between. Anything they settle upon, though, gets painted red--warm and sticky. Gruff Tenor and Fucking Sniper are gone, but for this.
Pieces of Samson make sloppy sounds as they slap against the metal trailer and return from flight back to cold ground.
Now, the silence and stillness seem exaggerated--contrasted against the sound and fury that preceded. Black night is as present as it was before and had been all along.
And, as minds in dire straights are like to think all manner of things, the facts return in floods:
Verne had disappeared toward the back entrance, but never reappeared. He'd had the untainted blood sample in his pocket.
Rocket Man was last seen laying on his back, unconscious, a bullet in his leg.
Security Guard, dry as desert noontime, was drug aside and left by the Zoo entrance.
One of four blood slides in a open fridge contains the blood of a departed ghoul.
The power remains off through most of the zoo, a boon if only for the sleeping cameras.
Rina has a key to an administrative office in her pocket. Samson had taken it from the CDC woman whom he believed to be a hunter.
There's a mess of bloodstains, bullet casings, and body parts in desperate need of cleaning, though a complete clean up seems impossible.
And Noah Szlembarski is captive to the remaining Hunters, two if Samson's count had been right.
The world doesn't stop moving, it seems, for bad days or dead apes or explosions. No, it turns. And turns. And turns, bringing new blessings . . . and new woe.
This thread is a continuation of Most Dangerous Game in the Four Legs Good, Two Legs Bad plot line.
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perception
